Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TRUE IRISH KING, by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TRUE IRISH KING, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The caesar of rome has a wider demesne
Last Line: And saints make the bed of the true irish king!
Subject(s): Ireland; Irish


I.

THE Caesar of Rome has a wider demesne,
And the Ard Righ of France has more clans in his train;
The sceptre of Spain is more heavy with gems,
And our crowns cannot vie with the Greek diadems;
But kinglier far before heaven and man
Are the Emerald fields, and the fiery-eyed clan,
The sceptre, and state, and the poets who sing,
And the swords that encircle A TRUE IRISH KING!

II.

For he must have come from a conquering race --
The heir of their valour, their glory, their grace:
His frame must be stately, his step must be fleet,
His hand must be trained to each warrior feat,
His face, as the harvest moon, steadfast and clear,
A head to enlighten, a spirit to cheer;
While the foremost to rush where the battle-brands ring,
And the last to retreat is A TRUE IRISH KING!

III.

Yet, not for his courage, his strength, or his name,
Can he from the clansmen their fealty claim.
The poorest, and highest, choose freely to-day
The chief, that to-night they'll as truly obey;
For loyalty springs from a people's consent,
And the knee that is forced had been better unbent --
The Sacsanach serfs no such homage can bring
As the Irishmen's choice of A TRUE IRISH KING!

IV.

Come, look on the pomp when they "make an O'NEILL;
The muster of dynasts -- O'h-Again, O'Shiadhail,
O'Cathain, O'h-Anluain, O'Bhreislein, and all,
From gentle Aird Uladh to rude Dun na n-gall:
"St. Patrick's comharba," with bishops thirteen,
And ollamhs and breitheamhs, and minstrels, are seen,
Round Tulach-Og Rath, like the bees in the spring
All swarming to honour A TRUE IRISH KING!

V.

Unsandalled he stands on the foot-dinted rock;
Like a pillar-stone fixed against every shock.
Round, round is the Rath on a far-seeing hill;
Like his blemishless honour, and vigilant will.
The grey-beards are telling how chiefs by the score
Have been crowned on "The Rath of the Kings" here tofore,
While, crowded, yet ordered, within its green ring,
Are the dynasts and priests round THE TRUE IRISH KING!

VI.

The chronicler read him the laws of the clan,
And pledged him to bide by their blessing and ban;
His skian and his sword are unbuckled to show
That they only were meant for a foreigner foe;
A white willow wand has been put in his hand --
A type of pure, upright, and gentle command --
While hierarchs are blessing, the slipper they fling,
And O'Cathain proclaims him A TRUE IRISH KING!

VII.

Thrice looked he to Heaven with thanks and with prayer --
Thrice looked to his borders with sentinel stare --
To the waves of Loch n-Eathach, the heights of Srathbhan;
And thrice on his allies, and thrice on his clan --
One clash on their bucklers! -- one more -- they are still --
What means the deep pause on the crest of the hill?
Why gaze they above him? -- a war-eagle's wing!
"'Tis an omen! -- Hurrah! for THE TRUE IRISH KING!"

VIII.

God aid him! -- God save him! -- and smile on his reign --
The terror of England -- the ally of Spain.
May his sword be triumphant o'er Sacsanach arts
Be his throne ever girt by strong hands, and true hearts!
May the course of his conquests run on till he see
The flag of Plantagenet sink in the sea!
May minstrels for ever his victories sing,
And saints make the bed of THE TRUE IRISH KING!





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