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go THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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O where are the brave hearts that bounded of old ?
And where are the faces my childhood has seen ? For fair brows are furrowed, and hearts have grown cold,
But our streams are still bright, and our hills are still green. Ay, green as they rose to the eyes of my youth,
When brothers in heart fh their shadows we met; And the hills have no memory of shadow or death,
For their summits are sacred to liberty yet.
Like ocean retiring the morning mists now
Roll back from the mountains that girdle our land; And sunlight encircles each heath-covered brow
For which time hath no furrow and tyrants no brand. O thus let it be with the hearts of the isle !
Efface the dark seal that oppression has set; Give back the lost glory again to the soil,
For the hills of my country remember it yet. |
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WHAT HATH TIME TAKEN?
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HAT hath Time taken ? Stars, that shone On the early years of earth, And the ancient hills they looked upon, Where a thousand streams had birth; Forests that were the young world's dower,
With their long-unfading trees; And the halls of wealth, and the thrones of power — He hath taken more than these.
He hath taken away the heart of youth, And its gladness, which hath been |
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