Poems (Blake)/The Birthnight
THE BIRTHNIGHT.
MOORE CENTENNIAL.
Strike a jubilant chord, O Earth, for the birth of the poet!
Welcome his conquering feet with harmony vibrant and strong;
Arch of the smiling sky, and blue sea ripple below it,
Welcome his conquering feet, who comes in the glory of song.
Welcome his conquering feet with harmony vibrant and strong;
Arch of the smiling sky, and blue sea ripple below it,
Welcome his conquering feet, who comes in the glory of song.
Flush of the incoming day and glowing of sunset splendor,
Silent feet of the night treading her shining ways,
Crooning of summer winds in lullaby dreamy and tender,
Welcome the birth of the poet with peans of triumph and praise.
Silent feet of the night treading her shining ways,
Crooning of summer winds in lullaby dreamy and tender,
Welcome the birth of the poet with peans of triumph and praise.
For he is the breath of thy soul, the pulse of the heart of thy being,
He is the voice of thy voice which speaks from the leaf and sod,
Falling in healing and balm on spirit and eyes unseeing,
And changing their darkness to light, like touch of the chrism of God.
He is the voice of thy voice which speaks from the leaf and sod,
Falling in healing and balm on spirit and eyes unseeing,
And changing their darkness to light, like touch of the chrism of God.
O windswept harp of Innisfail
Wake from thy sleep to-night,
Not faint with sorrow's lingering wail,
But glad with life's delight!
For he who gave thy notes to fame
And love and joy of yore,
Brings the fair glory of his name
To wreathe thy strings once more.
Wake from thy sleep to-night,
Not faint with sorrow's lingering wail,
But glad with life's delight!
For he who gave thy notes to fame
And love and joy of yore,
Brings the fair glory of his name
To wreathe thy strings once more.
His glory! Aye! The statesman's hand
May fail with failing breath,
The thought which nerved the Patriot's brand
Go down with him to death;
But he whose song divine can thrill
A nation's depths, shall last
Through every phase of doubt or ill,
Immortal as her past.
May fail with failing breath,
The thought which nerved the Patriot's brand
Go down with him to death;
But he whose song divine can thrill
A nation's depths, shall last
Through every phase of doubt or ill,
Immortal as her past.
Thou soul of love! Thou heart of fire!
That flamed for Erin's sake;
Whose light bade each fond hope aspire,
Whose warmth kept life awake,—
If, at thy name, the thought which starts
Finds voice in faltering phrase,
'T is that we hold thee in our hearts
Too deep for idle praise.
That flamed for Erin's sake;
Whose light bade each fond hope aspire,
Whose warmth kept life awake,—
If, at thy name, the thought which starts
Finds voice in faltering phrase,
'T is that we hold thee in our hearts
Too deep for idle praise.
But while across Avoca's vale
The shades of fancy rest,
While the last roses fade and pale
Above the summer's breast,—
While valor lives, or young love thrills.
The changeful moods of men,
The charm which all thy music fills
Shall live and breathe again!
The shades of fancy rest,
While the last roses fade and pale
Above the summer's breast,—
While valor lives, or young love thrills.
The changeful moods of men,
The charm which all thy music fills
Shall live and breathe again!
And we, who of the whole broad earth
Can never quite forget
That race and creed and common birth
Have brought thee nearer yet,—
Thus hail thee whom their souls have known,
Thus hold thy memory shrined,
Thy spirit for thy land alone,
Thy fame for all mankind!
Can never quite forget
That race and creed and common birth
Have brought thee nearer yet,—
Thus hail thee whom their souls have known,
Thus hold thy memory shrined,
Thy spirit for thy land alone,
Thy fame for all mankind!