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Poem
May 10, 1832
Martinsburg Gazette And Public Advertiser
Martinsburg, Berkeley County, West Virginia
What is this article about?
A lamenting poem contrasting the beautiful homes of England (quoted from Mrs. Hemans) with the desolate, famine-stricken homes of Ireland, depicting hunger, discord, and despair in cabins and wilds, while hoping for a return of native pride and patriotism.
Clipping
OCR Quality
95%
Excellent
Full Text
THE HOMES OF IRELAND.
The stately homes of England,
How beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land.
(Mrs. Hemans.)
The stately homes of Ireland,
How desolate they stand,
Amidst the forest groves and trees
Of this deserted land.
The deer no more o'er meadows bound,
Or bask in summer's beam;
The swan her song in plaintive sound
Is wailing on the stream.
The mournful homes of Ireland!
Around the turf by night,
There looks of famine—not of love—
Meet in the dismal light.
No woman's voice is heard in song,
No childhood's tale is told;
The calls of hunger are among
The youthful and the old.
The wretched homes of Ireland!
The demon discord lowers;
Banished the holy quietness
Of sacred Sabbath hours,
Solemn, yet sad, the church bell's chime
Floats o'er the wilds at morn;
Fierce passions rise in that still time,
Engendering hate and scorn.
The outlawed homes of Ireland,
By thousands on her plains;
The cabin and the smoking hut,
No comfort now contains.
Through bog and rushes forth they peep,
Overwhelmed with rankling weeds;
In deep despair their inmates sleep,
And dream of desperate deeds.
The free, fair homes of Ireland!
Ere long in hut and hall,
May heart of native pride return,
And guard each hallowed wall.
And green forever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,
Where true the patriot spirit loves
Its country and its God!
The stately homes of England,
How beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land.
(Mrs. Hemans.)
The stately homes of Ireland,
How desolate they stand,
Amidst the forest groves and trees
Of this deserted land.
The deer no more o'er meadows bound,
Or bask in summer's beam;
The swan her song in plaintive sound
Is wailing on the stream.
The mournful homes of Ireland!
Around the turf by night,
There looks of famine—not of love—
Meet in the dismal light.
No woman's voice is heard in song,
No childhood's tale is told;
The calls of hunger are among
The youthful and the old.
The wretched homes of Ireland!
The demon discord lowers;
Banished the holy quietness
Of sacred Sabbath hours,
Solemn, yet sad, the church bell's chime
Floats o'er the wilds at morn;
Fierce passions rise in that still time,
Engendering hate and scorn.
The outlawed homes of Ireland,
By thousands on her plains;
The cabin and the smoking hut,
No comfort now contains.
Through bog and rushes forth they peep,
Overwhelmed with rankling weeds;
In deep despair their inmates sleep,
And dream of desperate deeds.
The free, fair homes of Ireland!
Ere long in hut and hall,
May heart of native pride return,
And guard each hallowed wall.
And green forever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,
Where true the patriot spirit loves
Its country and its God!
What sub-type of article is it?
Elegy
Pastoral
What themes does it cover?
Death Mourning
Political
Patriotism
What keywords are associated?
Ireland Homes
Famine Desolation
Hunger Despair
Native Pride
Patriot Spirit
Irish Lament
Poem Details
Title
The Homes Of Ireland.
Subject
On The Desolate Homes Of Ireland Amid Famine
Form / Style
Rhymed Stanzas In Iambic Tetrameter
Key Lines
The Stately Homes Of Ireland,
How Desolate They Stand,
There Looks Of Famine—Not Of Love—
Meet In The Dismal Light.
May Heart Of Native Pride Return,
And Guard Each Hallowed Wall.