The voices of the spring are calling
Among the green hills far away;
The flitting lights and shades are falling
O’er skies of soft and weeping gray.
The buds and blossoms forth are peeping,
With glittering beads of fragrant dew;
While hidden streamlets murmur leaping
The leafy glens and woodlands through
Behind the hawthorn copses hiding,
Now glancing through the primrose dell,
Those silvery feet are airy gliding,
That spirit voice is heard to swell
The choral strain of living waters,
Pervading all the earth and air;
Mysterious music, still that utters
Eternal thoughts of praise and prayer!
Oh! fresh and sweet the breeze is blowing
With odours from some flowery isle,
Where youth, and hope, and love, are glowing
Amid the clustering roses' smile.
Far off, far off, from seas of azure,
That roll in slumbers bright and calm,
O'er many a hoard of golden treasure,
Still blows around that breath of balm!
Soft dreams and memories now are playing
Anear on radiant, snowy plume;
To life they whisper, gently saying –
"For thee again is spring-tide bloom.
The skies emerge from clouded sadness,
The flowers forget the winter snow;
And thou mayst drink again of gladness,
With the wak'ning earth below."
O Ireland of that spring-time fairest!
O Ireland of the murmuring streams!
Fair clime on earth of memories rarest,
Of early hopes and golden dreams –
With heart strings round thee fondly twining,
With eyes thro' space and time that strain
Across that waste of waters shining,
The exile flies to thee again!
Eva Mary O'Doherty (ca 1848)