The rose-bud its fragrance at evening may breathe,
Or sparkle with dew-drops the moonlight beneath,
Its fragrance, its beauty, its sweets I resign,
And Erin’s green shamrock alone shall be mine.
The laurel its branches triumphant may wave,
And shade with its foliage the tomb of the brave;
No blood-crimsoned chaplet my brows shall entwine,
But Erin’s green shamrock alone shall be mine.
Oh dearer by far is thy leaf to the heart,
Than all the rich bloom of the East could impart,
May Erin thy plants in her bosom enshrine,
And the sprig her affection has hallowed, be mine.
*Author’s note: Pronounced…Go de shin, do te shin, nagh maynean shin ya [What’s that to one to whom’s it of no concern].
From: Miss Balfour, Hope, a Poetical Essay; with Various Other Poems, 1810, Smith and Lyons, High-Street, p. 155.
(https://archive.org/details/hopeapoeticales00balfgoog/)
Date: 1810
By: Mary Balfour (1778-1819)
From Troubles of The World 