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OH THE SHAMROCK.

   Thro' Erin's Isle,
   To sport awhile,
As Love and Valor wandered,
   With Wit, the sprite,
   Whose quiver bright
A thousand arrows squandered.
   Where'er they pass,
   A triple grass[1]
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming.
   As softly green
   As emeralds seen
Thro' purest crystal gleaming.
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
   Chosen leaf.
   Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock!

   Says Valor, "See,
   "They spring for me,
"Those leafy gems of morning!"—
  Says Love, "No, no,
  "For me they grow,
"My fragrant path adorning."
   But Wit perceives
   The triple leaves,
And cries, "Oh! do not sever
   "A type, that blends
   "Three godlike friends,
"Love, Valor, Wit, for ever!"
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
   Chosen leaf
   Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock!

   So firmly fond
   May last the bond,
They wove that morn together,
   And ne'er may fall
   One drop of gall
On Wit's celestial feather.
   May Love, as twine
   His flowers divine.
Of thorny falsehood weed 'em;
   May Valor ne'er
   His standard rear
Against the cause of Freedom!
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
   Chosen leaf
   Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock!

[1] It is said that St. Patrick, when preaching the Trinity to the Pagan Irish, used to illustrate his subject by reference to that species of trefoil called in Ireland by the name of the Shamrock; and hence, perhaps, the Island of Saints adopted this plant as her national emblem. Hope, among the ancients, was sometimes represented as a beautiful child, standing upon tiptoes, and a trefoil or three-colored grass in her hand.