THOMAS MOORE AT ST. ANNE'S by THOMAS D'ARCY MCGEE

I

On these swift waters borne along,
A poet from the farther shore,
Framed as he went his solemn song,
And set it by the boatman's oar.

II

It was his being's law to sing
From morning dawn to evening light;
Like nature's choristers, his wing
And voice were only still'd at night.

III

Nor did all nights bring him repose;
For by the moon's auspicious ray,
Like Philomela on her rose,
His song eclipsed the songs of day.

IV

He came a stranger summer-bird,
And quickly pass'd; but as he flew
Our river's glorious song, he heard,
His tongue was loosed—he warbled too!

V

And, mark the moral, ye who dream
To be the poets of the land:
He nowhere found a nobler theme
Than you, ye favor'd, have at hand.

VI

Not in the storied Summer Isles,
Not 'mid the classic Cyclades,
Not where the Persian sun-god smiles,
Found he more fitting theme than these.

VII

So, while the boat glides swift along,
Behold above there looketh forth
The star that lights the path of song—
The constant star that loves the north.

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