Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Ireland: Vol. V. 1876–79. | | | | Blarney Castle | | The Groves of Blarney | | Richard Alfred Milliken (1767–1815) |
| | | THE GROVES of Blarney | |
| They look so charming, | |
| Down by the purling | |
| Of sweet silent streams, | |
| Being banked with posies | 5 |
| That spontaneous grow there, | |
| Planted in order | |
| By the sweet rock close. | |
| ’T is there ’s the daisy | |
| And the sweet carnation, | 10 |
| The blooming pink, | |
| And the rose so fair; | |
| The daffodowndilly, | |
| Likewise the lily,— | |
| All flowers that scent | 15 |
| The sweet fragrant air. | |
| |
| ’T is Lady Jeffers | |
| That owns this station; | |
| Like Alexander, | |
| Or Queen Helen fair, | 20 |
| There ’s no commander | |
| In all the nation, | |
| For emulation, | |
| Can with her compare. | |
| Such walls surround her, | 25 |
| That no nine-pounder | |
| Could dare to plunder | |
| Her place of strength; | |
| But Oliver Cromwell, | |
| Her he did pommel, | 30 |
| And made a breach | |
| In her battlement. | |
| |
| There ’s gravel-walks there | |
| For speculation | |
| And conversation | 35 |
| In sweet solitude. | |
| ’T is there the lover | |
| May hear the dove, or | |
| The gentle plover | |
| In the afternoon; | 40 |
| And if a lady | |
| Would be so engaging | |
| As to walk alone in | |
| Those shady bowers, | |
| ’T is there the courtier | 45 |
| He may transport her | |
| Into some fort, or | |
| All under ground. | |
| |
| For ’t is there ’s a cave where | |
| No daylight enters, | 50 |
| But cats and badgers | |
| Are forever bred; | |
| Being mossed by nature, | |
| That makes it sweeter | |
| Than a coach-and-six | 55 |
| Or a feather-bed. | |
| ’T is there the lake is, | |
| Well stored with perches | |
| And comely eels in | |
| The verdant mud; | 60 |
| Besides the leeches, | |
| And groves of beeches, | |
| Standing in order | |
| For to guard the flood. | |
| |
| There ’s statues gracing | 65 |
| This noble place in,— | |
| All heathen gods | |
| And nymphs so fair; | |
| Bold Neptune, Plutarch, | |
| And Nicodemus, | 70 |
| All standing naked | |
| In the open air! | |
| So now to finish | |
| This brave narration, | |
| Which my poor genius | 75 |
| Could not entwine; | |
| But were I Homer | |
| Or Nebuchadnezzar, | |
| ’T is in every feature | |
| I would make it shine. | 80 |
| |
| There is a boat on | |
| The lake to float on, | |
| And lots of beauties | |
| Which I can’t entwine; | |
| But were I a preacher | 85 |
| Or a classic teacher, | |
| In every feature | |
| I ’d make ’em shine! | |
| |
| There is a stone there | |
| That whoever kisses, | 90 |
| O, he never misses | |
| To grow eloquent; | |
| ’T is he may clamber | |
| To a lady’s chamber, | |
| Or become a member | 95 |
| Of Parliament: | |
| A clever spouter | |
| He ’ll soon turn out, or | |
| An out-and-outer, | |
| “To be let alone.” | 100 |
| Don’t hope to hinder him, | |
| Or to bewilder him, | |
| Sure he ’s a pilgrim | |
| From the Blarney Stone! | | | | |
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