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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 143 |
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J. B. CLARKE
(Living)
EMAN-AC-KNUCK TO EVA
O
N the white hawthorn's bloom, in purpling streak, I see the fairy-ring of morning break, On the green valley's brow the golden glows, Kissing the crimson of the opening rose, Knits with her thousand smiles its damask dyes, And laughs the season on our hearts and eyes. Rise, Eva, rise ! fair spirit of my breast, In whom I live, forsake the down of rest.
Lovelier than morn, carnationed in soft hues, Sweeter than rifled roses in the dews Of dawn divinely weeping—and more fair Than the coy flowers fann'd by mountain air; More modest than the morning's blushing smile. Rise, Eva, rise ! pride of our Western Isle — The sky's blue beauties lose their sunny grace Before the calm, soft splendours of thy face.
Thy breath is sweeter than the apple bloom, When spring's musk'd spirit bathes it in perfume; The rock's wild honey steeps thy rubied lip — Rise, Eva, rise ! I long these sweets to sip. |
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