And the sly weapons in life's hand,—
Eileen aroused to share all fate,
Eileen a wife,
Pale, beautiful,
Eileen most grave and dutiful,
Mourning her dreams in queenly state.
Eileen! Eileen!. . .
IRELAND
By Edmund Leamy (Senior)
I loved a love—a royal love—
In the golden long ago;
And she was fair as fair could be.
The foam upon the broken sea,
The sheen of sun, or moon, or star,
The sparkle from the diamond spar,
Not half so rare and radiant are
As my own love—my royal love—
In the golden long ago.
And she had stately palace halls—
In the golden long ago;
And warriors, men of stainless swords,
Were seated at her festive boards,
Fierce champions of her lightest words,
While hymned the bard the chieftain's praise,
And sang their deed of battle days,
To cheer my love, my royal love,
In the golden long ago.
