HOW sweet from proud Ben-Edir's height, To see the ocean roll in light; And fleets swift-bounding in the gale, With warriors clothed in shining mail! Fair hill, on thee great Finn of old Was wont his counsels sage to hold; On thee rich bowls the Fenians crowned, And passed the foaming beverage round. 'T was thine within a sea-washed cave To hide and shelter Duivne brave, When, snared by Grace's charms divine, He bore her o'er the raging brine Fair hill, thy slopes are ever seen Bedecked with flowers or robed in green; Thy nut-groves rustle o'er the deep, And forests crown thy cliff-girt steep. High from thy russet peaks't is sweet To see the embattled war-ships meet; To hear the crash, the shout, the roar Of cannon, through the caverned shore. Most beauteous hill, around whose head Ten thousand sea-birds' pinions spread, May joy thy lord's true bosom thrill, Chief of the Fenians' happy hill! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by MATTHEW PRIOR THE FOUNTAIN by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II TICKER TAPE by ELIZABETH KELTY BEITEL KNIFE OF NOSTALGIA by AVANELLE WILMETH BLAIR CROMWELL'S SOLILOQUY OVER THE DEAD BODY OF CHARLES by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. THE TRIUMPH OF CIVILISATION by EDWARD CARPENTER SONNET: OF THE GRAVE OF SELVAGGIA, ON MONTE DELLA SAMBUCA by CINO DA PISTOIA |