K NOW'ST thou that green spot 'mid billows of ocean,
Whose valleys are wild, and whose mountains are bare,
The shrine of my heart's deep, undying devotion, —
The lone, lovely mist-gem of Mannin Mac Leear?
Know'st thou where Holm Peel's proud ruins rise hoary,
Where ghosts of the princely at dead midnight moan?
Know'st thou where Rushen still frowneth in glory?
Hast thou heard where the death-shot laid low Illiam Dhone?
Know'st thou the glens which the elf race inhabit,
Where brightly their tiny lamps burn as of yore?
Knowest thou " Quocunque jeceris stabit, " ?
Or the dread Moddey Doo of the wild western shore?
Know'st thou the spot where the rose and the thistle,
The leek and the shamrock, are lovelily blent,
Where shrill on the hills is the hollow wind's whistle,
Where fairies by moonlight dance over the bent?
'Tis Mona the lone! where the silver mist gathers —
Pale shroud whence our Wizard-chief watches unseen
O'er the breezy, the bright, the lov'd home of my fathers;
Oh, Mannin, my graih my chree! Mannin veg veen!
'Tis Mona the lone! thro' whose wild curraghs roaming,
I've lingered to list to the oaten pipe's strain; —
Where, enchanted, I've gazed on the rustics at gloaming,
Bedight in dear simple keeir lheeah and carrane.
'Tis the spot where my spirit exultingly wander'd
'Mid Nature's own solitudes, breezy and bare; —
Where, shrin'd in Glenaldyn's recesses, I've ponder'd,
Enraptured o'er legends of Mannin Mac Leear.
And gentle and kind are its brilliant-eyed daughters —
My vision ne'er brought me one other more fair;
Tho' lovely and noble have come o'er the waters,
Give me the Manks maid with the dark flowing hair.
Then hail to thee, happy home! — gem of the ocean!
Oh, thine are the youths honest-hearted and free; —
Ever free in each generous soul-felt emotion
As the wing of the eagle or foam of the sea.
Then hail to thee, happy home! land of my fathers! —
Proud nest of famed chieftains! blest isle of the fair! —
The hills, the wild hills, where the fairy mist gathers —
Oh, Mannin, my graih my chree! Mannin Mac Leear!
With the patriot's fire my bosom is beating; —
All my soul's with my lute; — then, wise critic, forbear! —
Deem not your rude minstrel barbaric, unweeting,
But smile on a scion of Mannin Mac Leear.
Kind smiles be thine, young Isadore!
Kind smiles from all be ever thine; —
Sooth, but thou canst full well restore
Mona's proud days of " auld lang syne; "
Sing on, young minstrel of the Isle!
Thine be thy country's brightest smile.
Come round us, spirits of the dead! —
Come to your mist-clad Island home; —
And all a spirit's blessing shed
On your lone dwelling 'mid the foam.
Their holiest smiles be thine, sweet one!
Those mightiest masters of the spell —
The glorious host of warriors gone —
They who fought bravely and died well —
Ay, be their spirit-blessings thine; —
And may sweet flowers for ever twine
Their richest blossoms round thy brow,
And oh! be ever gay as now.
The lady rose....
Whose valleys are wild, and whose mountains are bare,
The shrine of my heart's deep, undying devotion, —
The lone, lovely mist-gem of Mannin Mac Leear?
Know'st thou where Holm Peel's proud ruins rise hoary,
Where ghosts of the princely at dead midnight moan?
Know'st thou where Rushen still frowneth in glory?
Hast thou heard where the death-shot laid low Illiam Dhone?
Know'st thou the glens which the elf race inhabit,
Where brightly their tiny lamps burn as of yore?
Knowest thou " Quocunque jeceris stabit, " ?
Or the dread Moddey Doo of the wild western shore?
Know'st thou the spot where the rose and the thistle,
The leek and the shamrock, are lovelily blent,
Where shrill on the hills is the hollow wind's whistle,
Where fairies by moonlight dance over the bent?
'Tis Mona the lone! where the silver mist gathers —
Pale shroud whence our Wizard-chief watches unseen
O'er the breezy, the bright, the lov'd home of my fathers;
Oh, Mannin, my graih my chree! Mannin veg veen!
'Tis Mona the lone! thro' whose wild curraghs roaming,
I've lingered to list to the oaten pipe's strain; —
Where, enchanted, I've gazed on the rustics at gloaming,
Bedight in dear simple keeir lheeah and carrane.
'Tis the spot where my spirit exultingly wander'd
'Mid Nature's own solitudes, breezy and bare; —
Where, shrin'd in Glenaldyn's recesses, I've ponder'd,
Enraptured o'er legends of Mannin Mac Leear.
And gentle and kind are its brilliant-eyed daughters —
My vision ne'er brought me one other more fair;
Tho' lovely and noble have come o'er the waters,
Give me the Manks maid with the dark flowing hair.
Then hail to thee, happy home! — gem of the ocean!
Oh, thine are the youths honest-hearted and free; —
Ever free in each generous soul-felt emotion
As the wing of the eagle or foam of the sea.
Then hail to thee, happy home! land of my fathers! —
Proud nest of famed chieftains! blest isle of the fair! —
The hills, the wild hills, where the fairy mist gathers —
Oh, Mannin, my graih my chree! Mannin Mac Leear!
With the patriot's fire my bosom is beating; —
All my soul's with my lute; — then, wise critic, forbear! —
Deem not your rude minstrel barbaric, unweeting,
But smile on a scion of Mannin Mac Leear.
Kind smiles be thine, young Isadore!
Kind smiles from all be ever thine; —
Sooth, but thou canst full well restore
Mona's proud days of " auld lang syne; "
Sing on, young minstrel of the Isle!
Thine be thy country's brightest smile.
Come round us, spirits of the dead! —
Come to your mist-clad Island home; —
And all a spirit's blessing shed
On your lone dwelling 'mid the foam.
Their holiest smiles be thine, sweet one!
Those mightiest masters of the spell —
The glorious host of warriors gone —
They who fought bravely and died well —
Ay, be their spirit-blessings thine; —
And may sweet flowers for ever twine
Their richest blossoms round thy brow,
And oh! be ever gay as now.
The lady rose....