Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Ireland: Vol. V. 1876–79.



By Rev. Dr. Patrick Aloysius Murray

THOUGH I have forsaken long

Fairy land of tuneful song,

Though my lips forget to tell

Thoughts they once could utter well,

How can I, with heart and tongue,

See unloved, or love unsung,

Scenes like those that rise before

The enchanted eye in sweet Glandore?

Though a high and holy call

Claims my soul and senses all,

Saints might sing a type like this

Of their own bright realms of bliss;

Man may tell in strains of love,

O, how fair the world above,

When such beauty beameth o’er

The heaven below of sweet Glandore!

Cloudless sky and sparkling sea,

Cliff and shore and forest tree,

Glen and stream and mountain blue,

Burst at once upon the view;

The gay, the beautiful, the grand,

Blending over wave and land,

Till the eye can ask no more

Than it hath in sweet Glandore.

But the sunshine on the sea,

And the emerald of the lea,

And the ever smiling skies

Charm not heart or soul or eyes,

Like the grasp of friendship’s hand,

Like the welcome warm and bland,

As the sunlight gleaming o’er

The happy homes of sweet Glandore.

For the loveliest scenes that e’er

Smiled of heaven the image fair,

Like the beautiful in death,

Have nor soul nor voice nor breath;

O, ’t is but the kindly heart

Can to them true life impart.

Tree and flower, and sea and shore,

Thus live and breathe in sweet Glandore.

Time may chill and bow and bind

Glowing heart and chainless mind;

They droop,—the flowers of fancy, youth,

Round the ripening fruits of truth;

Yet I feel, while here I stray,

Dawn again youth’s sunny day;

Fancy, with her radiant store,

Comes again in sweet Glandore.

Lovely region of Glandore!

Friends beloved forevermore!

Mid the tranquil bliss I feel

One sad thought begins to steal,—

Soon must come the parting day,

And my steps no more will stray,

And my voice be heard no more

Among the scenes of sweet Glandore!