Irish Poets.

Moore found the ballads of Green Isle             Were oft obscured beneath the soil,             As miner digging in a mine             Finds rubbish 'mong the gold so fine,             So Moore placed dross in the waste basket             And enshrined jewels in casket,             Where all may view each charming gem             In Ireland's grand old diadem.             In eastern lands his fame prevails             In wondrous oriental tales,             So full of gems his Lala Rookh,             Hindoos and Brahmins read his book,             And dark eyed Persian girls admire             The beauty of his magic lyre,             Glowing like pearls of great price             Those distant gleams of paradise.             He sang of Bryan Borohm's glory,             Renowned in ancient Irish story,             And shows the wide expanded walls             Which once encircled Tara's Halls,             When joyous harp did there resound             And Ireland's greatest king was crowned,             All wars and tumults then did cease,             Ireland did prosper great in peace.             He sung of meeting of the waters             And of Ireland's charming daughters,             Great minstrel from his harp both flows,             Ireland's triumphs and her woes,             Canada doth his fame prolong             While she doth sing his great boat song,             And his own countrymen adore             The genial, witty, bright Tom Moore.