Classic Poem

A " Melody " of Tom Moore's . 1813.

Through Erin's isle,
To sport awhile,
As Love and Valour wander'd
With Wit the sprite,
Whose quiver bright
A thousand arrows squander'd:
Where'er they pass,
A triple grass
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming,
As softly green
As emeralds seen
Through purest crystal gleaming.
O the shamrock!
The green immortal shamrock!
Chosen leaf of bard and chief —
Old Erin's native shamrock!

Says Valour, " See!
They spring for me.
Those leafy gems of morning; "
Says Love, " No, no,
For me they grow,
My fragrant path adorning. "
But Wit perceives
The triple leaves,
And cries, " O, do not sever
A type that blends
Three godlike friends —
Wit, Valour, Love, for ever! "
O the shamrock!
The green immortal shamrock!
Chosen leaf of bard and chief,
Old Erin's native shamrock!

So firm and fond
May last the bond
They wove that morn together;
And ne'er may fall
One drop of gall
On Wit's celestial feather!
May Love, as shoot
His flowers and fruit,
Of thorny falsehood weed them;
Let Valour ne'er
His standard rear
Against the cause of freedom,
Or of the shamrock,
The green immortal shamrock!
Chosen leaf of bard and chief,
Old Erin's native shamrock!