Land of my fathers! to thy sacred shore
I come in sorrow from the stranger’s hill,
Unlike my sires, who, in days of yore,
Thou cherished aye, and loved to honour still.
Scaithed by relentless fate with many an ill,
A wanderer I come, and hailed by none.
It was not so my fathers sought thy sill.
O mother! rise, behold thy hapless son,
And toward him spread thine arms from out thy mountains dun.
Land of my fathers! ’tis a weary while
I’ve wandered from thy coast full far away,
And gone is now that fair deceitful smile
Which hope doth beam upon life’s early day,
When the pure spirit first doth forth essay
Amid the coil of many an evil elf,
And all in open innocence full gay.
Thinks not that ought is other than itself,
Knows not of fraudful hands, nor souls resigned for pelf.
For as the butterfly at early spring
Comes forth amid the sunshine from his cell,
And lightly wandering on his careless wing,
Drinks in the dewy cowslip’s golden bell,
And feeds beneath the lily in the dell,
And wists not of the cloud upon the gale,
Nor of the eve’s chill frost nor hailstorm fell,
But deems as bright for ever is the vale—
So is the morn of man, as sudden and as frail.
There was a time, sooth deemed I so the while,
When ‘mid the world all hope I fared right gay;
And many a proffered hand and gentle smile
Seemed as from gathering friends to meet my way,
Though as I went much heard I sages say
Of lurking guile and hidden treason foul;
But hard it seemed with churlish doubt to pay
Fair zeal which seemed unshadowed by a cowl,
And chill the smile of love with dark suspicion’s scowl.
I once received man’s proffered hand for true,
I once believed the maiden’s melting sigh,
Nor deemed the grasp a secret dagger drew,
Or falsehood in a heavenly form might lye,
And lurk within the soul-subduing eye.
Once in the woe a stranger did betide,
My soul forgot its anguish, wild and high,
And gave my last poor pittance, when beside
I wist not for my need if morning would provide.
But deep the proffered hand has pierced my breast,
And the soft sigh been breathed but to beguile,
And all the eloquence of eyes addressed
To thrall me in some purpose dark and vile;
And oft the wretch for whom I wept the while,
And gave the last which heaven to me had gave,
With blasting venom did my name defile,
And sought me in the dark with ambushed glaive,
And sooth with scornful foot had trod upon my grave.
But ’tis all past; I have no more to do
With ought in phantom fairy land may be.
Dark human nature, I do know thee true,
And now there is a bound ‘twixt me and thee:
Vain now are all thy spells and witcherie;
Amidst thy winding coil alone I stand,
And while thou keep’st around thy revelrie
I fold me in my plaid; while close my hand,
Come now howe’er thou wilt, is ever on the brand.
‘Tis now full many a year since o’er me shone
Fair Fortune’s summer time in golden gleam;
‘Tis many a year since from mine eye has gone
The last dim day of pleasure like a dream.
‘Tis night upon my soul, and all doth seem
Dark as the moonless glen where elves do stray.
Green wandering meteors through its shadow stream;
But no fair star looks out upon my way,
‘Tis dark, and lorn, and lost, and fearful with dismay.
But dost thou think I tremble in the storm,
Or deign before Misfortune’s host to crave?
No! with a brow of scorn I front its form,
And still my hand is on my father’s glaive:
He was not wont to quail amid the brave,
And still his snow-white shield my arm doth hold;
It oft has broke wide conquest’s hostile wave,
And yet the tide may from its orb be rolled,
And yet the glaive may cleave the foe who is too bold.
Land of my fathers! there was once a time
When but the passing name of De la Haye
Had spread a thrill through all thy warlike clime,
And stirred thy people as the copse-wood spray
Stirs ‘neath the sudden breeze which sweeps the Tay;
And had Mac Garadh’s chief gone forth thy strand,
Thy sons had thronged in grief to bless his way,
And poured in joyful tumult to the sand
To welcome him again when turned he to his land.
Full oft my fathers for thy cause have stood
In hour of deadly need and evil thrall;
Full oft at sage debate with counsel good
Their voice has sounded in Dun Aiden’s hall.
Bold with the Bruce they led their vassals all,
And with the Wallace were in weal and woe.
Ne’er failed their ear to list when thou didst call,
Right often from their arm has fled thy foe,
Though now in death they sleep full feeble and full low.
Full oft amid the battle’s broken flood,
Their crimson shields the sweeping shock did bide,
Full oft above the lances’ wavering wood
Their falcon crest to victorie did ride;
And oft their brand has turned the wild war’s tide,
And the lost rout upon the foemen wheeled,
And ah! for thee full often have they died.
Their blood is yet upon the lonely field,
Where Flodden’s strife was lost, and Earn’s dread fight did yield.
And sooth there was a time, howe’er ’tis now,
O’er thy wide realm they held the regal sway.
The blood which yet beneath this breast doth flow,
Was from thy Stuarts drawn in olden day:
But with their race all! all! is fallen away—
Yet mourn I how my name withstood their foes?
Cursed had it been to fail them in the fray,
Aye in their weal it shared as in their woes,
And aye the misle spray shall blend it with the rose.
Land of my fathers! to thy shore I come,
And seek for shelter in thy mountain hold.
Give to my foot to find a native home,
And o’er me spread thy chequered mantle’s fold,
And think upon Mac Garadh’s name of old.
An exile long I come from ocean dun,
And fortune on my way stern strife doth hold.
Repay their faithful service to their son,
Who oft to death for thee have ventured and have won.
Land of my fathers! ’tis a weary while
I’ve wandered from thy coast full far away,
And gone is now that fair deceitful smile
Which hope doth beam upon life’s early day,
When the pure spirit first doth forth essay
Amid the coil of many an evil elf,
And all in open innocence full gay.
Thinks not that ought is other than itself,
Knows not of fraudful hands, nor souls resigned for pelf.
For as the butterfly at early spring
Comes forth amid the sunshine from his cell,
And lightly wandering on his careless wing,
Drinks in the dewy cowslip’s golden bell,
And feeds beneath the lily in the dell,
And wists not of the cloud upon the gale,
Nor of the eve’s chill frost nor hailstorm fell,
But deems as bright for ever is the vale—
So is the morn of man, as sudden and as frail.
There was a time, sooth deemed I so the while,
When ‘mid the world all hope I fared right gay;
And many a proffered hand and gentle smile
Seemed as from gathering friends to meet my way,
Though as I went much heard I sages say
Of lurking guile and hidden treason foul;
But hard it seemed with churlish doubt to pay
Fair zeal which seemed unshadowed by a cowl,
And chill the smile of love with dark suspicion’s scowl.
I once received man’s proffered hand for true,
I once believed the maiden’s melting sigh,
Nor deemed the grasp a secret dagger drew,
Or falsehood in a heavenly form might lye,
And lurk within the soul-subduing eye.
Once in the woe a stranger did betide,
My soul forgot its anguish, wild and high,
And gave my last poor pittance, when beside
I wist not for my need if morning would provide.
But deep the proffered hand has pierced my breast,
And the soft sigh been breathed but to beguile,
And all the eloquence of eyes addressed
To thrall me in some purpose dark and vile;
And oft the wretch for whom I wept the while,
And gave the last which heaven to me had gave,
With blasting venom did my name defile,
And sought me in the dark with ambushed glaive,
And sooth with scornful foot had trod upon my grave.
But ’tis all past; I have no more to do
With ought in phantom fairy land may be.
Dark human nature, I do know thee true,
And now there is a bound ‘twixt me and thee:
Vain now are all thy spells and witcherie;
Amidst thy winding coil alone I stand,
And while thou keep’st around thy revelrie
I fold me in my plaid; while close my hand,
Come now howe’er thou wilt, is ever on the brand.
‘Tis now full many a year since o’er me shone
Fair Fortune’s summer time in golden gleam;
‘Tis many a year since from mine eye has gone
The last dim day of pleasure like a dream.
‘Tis night upon my soul, and all doth seem
Dark as the moonless glen where elves do stray.
Green wandering meteors through its shadow stream;
But no fair star looks out upon my way,
‘Tis dark, and lorn, and lost, and fearful with dismay.
But dost thou think I tremble in the storm,
Or deign before Misfortune’s host to crave?
No! with a brow of scorn I front its form,
And still my hand is on my father’s glaive:
He was not wont to quail amid the brave,
And still his snow-white shield my arm doth hold;
It oft has broke wide conquest’s hostile wave,
And yet the tide may from its orb be rolled,
And yet the glaive may cleave the foe who is too bold.
Land of my fathers! there was once a time
When but the passing name of De la Haye
Had spread a thrill through all thy warlike clime,
And stirred thy people as the copse-wood spray
Stirs ‘neath the sudden breeze which sweeps the Tay;
And had Mac Garadh’s chief gone forth thy strand,
Thy sons had thronged in grief to bless his way,
And poured in joyful tumult to the sand
To welcome him again when turned he to his land.
Full oft my fathers for thy cause have stood
In hour of deadly need and evil thrall;
Full oft at sage debate with counsel good
Their voice has sounded in Dun Aiden’s hall.
Bold with the Bruce they led their vassals all,
And with the Wallace were in weal and woe.
Ne’er failed their ear to list when thou didst call,
Right often from their arm has fled thy foe,
Though now in death they sleep full feeble and full low.
Full oft amid the battle’s broken flood,
Their crimson shields the sweeping shock did bide,
Full oft above the lances’ wavering wood
Their falcon crest to victorie did ride;
And oft their brand has turned the wild war’s tide,
And the lost rout upon the foemen wheeled,
And ah! for thee full often have they died.
Their blood is yet upon the lonely field,
Where Flodden’s strife was lost, and Earn’s dread fight did yield.
And sooth there was a time, howe’er ’tis now,
O’er thy wide realm they held the regal sway.
The blood which yet beneath this breast doth flow,
Was from thy Stuarts drawn in olden day:
But with their race all! all! is fallen away—
Yet mourn I how my name withstood their foes?
Cursed had it been to fail them in the fray,
Aye in their weal it shared as in their woes,
And aye the misle spray shall blend it with the rose.
Land of my fathers! to thy shore I come,
And seek for shelter in thy mountain hold.
Give to my foot to find a native home,
And o’er me spread thy chequered mantle’s fold,
And think upon Mac Garadh’s name of old.
An exile long I come from ocean dun,
And fortune on my way stern strife doth hold.
Repay their faithful service to their son,
Who oft to death for thee have ventured and have won.
John Carter Allen
Source: http://spenserians.cath.vt.edu/
