DEAR COUNTRYMEN, whate'er is left to us Of ancient heritage -- Of manners, speech, of humours, polity The limited horizon of our stage -- Old love, hope, fear, All this I fain would fix upon the page; That so the coming age, Lost in the empire's mass, Yet haply longing for their fathers, here May see, as in a glass, What they held dear -- May say, "'Twas thus and thus They lived"; and, as the time-flood onward rolls, Secure an anchor for their Keltic souls. |