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Poem by Joseph Rodman Drake

Lines to a Lady, on Hearing Her Sing Cushlamachree

Yes! heaven protect thee, thou gem of the ocean;
   Dear land of my sires, though distant thy shores;
Ere my heart cease to love thee, its latest emotion,
   The last dying throbs of its pulse must be oer.

And dark were the bosom, and cold and unfeeling,
   That tamely could listen unmoved at the call,
When woman, the warm soul of melody stealing,
   Laments for her country and sighs oer its fall.

Sing on, gentle warbler, the tear-drop appearing
   Shall fall for the woes of the queen of the sea;
And the spirit that breathes in the harp of green Erin,
   Descending, shall hail thee her Cushlamachree.

Joseph Rodman Drake

Joseph Rodman Drake's other poems:
  1. Bronx
  2. Fragment
  3. To ---
  4. Song (Oh! go to sleep, my baby dear)
  5. Lines Written on Leaving New Rochelle

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