THE COUNTRY OF THE YOUNG To H. A. MacC.

THERE is a kingdom cool and green, Washed by the ever-moaning sea, From whose wild surf, with furious mien, Lir’s war-hounds struggle to be free. The tempest breaks on tower and tree, Exultantly proud winds are flung. Joy in the storm the watchers see— It is the country of the young. There is a land that loved the green Through all the sullen, bitter years, The vengeance of the Tudor queen, Swart Cromwell’s wrath, proud Strafford’s fears; The Boyne’s despair and Limerick’s fears: They fade, they die, as runes long sung. Youth springs triumphant down the years— It is the country of the young. There is a land where hope is green. Exultant in the eastern sky Flashes a dawn whose golden sheen Shall fall where Tone and Emmet lie. The brave hearts sleep, they cannot die; They speak to all with deathless tongue Who serve the Cause with purpose high Within the country of the young.

FAIR is your crown, Dark Rosaleen. For you are silver joy-bells swung. A nation comes to hail you queen, All in the country of the young.