THE BAY OF DUBLIN.

My native Bay, for many a year
I've loved thee with a trembling fear,
Lest thou, though dear and very dear,
    And beauteous as a vision,
Shouldst have some rival far away--
Some matchless wonder of a bay--
Whose sparkling waters ever play
    'Neath azure skies elysian.

'Tis Love, methought, blind Love that pours
The rippling magic round these shores--
For whatsoever Love adores
    Becomes what Love desireth:
'Tis ignorance of aught beside
That throws enchantment o'er the tide,
And makes my heart respond with pride
    To what mine eye admireth.

And thus, unto our mutual loss,
Whene'er I paced the sloping moss
Of green Killiney, or across
    The intervening waters--
Up Howth's brown sides my feet would wend,
To see thy sinuous bosom bend,
Or view thine outstretch'd arms extend
    To clasp thine islet daughters;

Then would this spectre of my fear
Beside me stand--how calm and clear
Slept underneath, the green waves, near
    The tide-worn rocks' recesses;
Or when they woke, and leapt from land,
Like startled sea-nymphs, hand in hand,
Seeking the southern silver strand
    With floating emerald tresses;

It lay o'er all, a moral mist,
Even on the hills, when evening kist
The granite peaks to amethyst,
    I felt its fatal shadow;--
It darkened o'er the brightest rills
It lower'd upon the sunniest hills,
And hid the wingéd song that fills
    The moorland and the meadow

But now that I have been to view
All even Nature's self can do,
And from Gaëta's arch of blue
    Borne many a fond memento;
And from each fair and famous scene,
Where Beauty is, and Power hath been,
Along the golden shores between
    Misenum and Sorrento:

I can look proudly in thy face,
Fair daughter of a hardier race,
And feel thy winning well-known grace,
    Without my old misgiving;
And as I kneel upon thy strand,
And kiss thy once unvalued hand,
Proclaim earth holds no lovelier land,
    Where life is worth the living.

1853.

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