’TIS a green isle set in a silver water, <br />A fairy isle where the shamrock grows. <br />Land of Legend, the Dream-Queen’s daughter— <br />Out of the Fairies’ hands She rose. <br />They touched Her harp with a tender sighing, <br />A spirit-song from a world afar, <br />They touched Her heart with a fire undying <br />To fight and follow Her battle-star. <br />Too long, too long thro’ the grey years growing <br />Feud and faction have swept between <br />The Thistledown and the red Rose blowing <br />And the three-fold leaf of the Shamrock green; <br />But the seal of blood, ye shall break it never: <br />With rifles grounded and bare of head <br />We drink to the dead who live forever <br />A silent toast—To the Irish dead! <br /> <br />’Tis an Irish cheer on the hillside ringing, <br />Where, checked and broken, the vanguards reel, <br />But on and upward and forward swinging, <br />The glittering line of the Irish steel! <br />Like points of light ’mid the boulders lying <br />Gleam and redden their bayonets keen. <br />On, thro’ the hell of their dead and dying, <br />Forward, forward, the Shamrock green! <br /> <br />To Ireland, set in the silver water, <br />To the fighting blood that is proved and tried— <br />Our sharpest sword and our fairest daughter— <br />Who saved the Empire and turned the tide! <br />And Wisdom comes as the days grow older, <br />We are done with the faults of the past, I ween, <br />Standing together, shoulder to shoulder, <br />The Thistle, the Rose, and the Shamrock green!<br /><br />George Essex Evans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-irish-dead/
