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NORTHERN BLACKWATER, by             Poem Explanation        
First Line: O! The broom banks of the river are fair


Oh! the broom banks of the river are fair.

Now the wild briar is blossoming there -

Now when the green banks so calmly repose,

Lulled by the river's strange chant as it goes,
Oh! the broom banks of the river are fair.
Laughing beneath the gold eyes of the broom,
Now the wild briar is blossoming there -
Flashing so free where the heather's in bloom,
Now when the green banks so calmly repose,
Blushing all o'er at the kiss of the sun,
Lulled by the river's strange chant as it goes,
Tranquil again as the gaze of a nun.
Laughing beneath the gold eyes of the broom,
Is it, my river, a sob or a song
Flashing so free where the heather's in bloom,
Beats from that heart as you hurry along?
Blushing all o'er at the kiss of the sun,
Once in the twilight I thought it farewell,
Tranquil again as the gaze of a nun.
Just a goodbye to both mountain and dell.
Is it, my river, a sob or a song
Here the first daisies break free from the sod,
Beats from that heart as you hurry along?
Stars looking up with their first glance to God!
Once in the twilight I thought it farewell,
Here, ere the first days of April are done,
Just a goodbye to both mountain and dell.
Stand the swart cherry trees robed with the sun;

In the deep woodland the windflowers blow;

Where young grass is springing, the crocuses glow;
Here the first daisies break free from the sod,
Down the green glen is the primrose's light,
Stars looking up with their first glance to God!
Soft shines the hawthorn's raiment of white,
Here, ere the first days of April are done,
Round the rough knees of the crabtree a ring
Stand the swart cherry trees robed with the sun;
Of daffodils dance for joy of the spring,
In the deep woodland the windflowers blow;
And then my bright river, so full and so free,
Where young grass is springing, the crocuses glow;
Sings as it wanders through woodland and lea.
Down the green glen is the primrose's light,
Fed with a thousand invisible rills,
Soft shines the hawthorn's raiment of white,
Girdled around with the awe of the hills,
Round the rough knees of the crabtree a ring
High in the mountains you spring to the light,
Of daffodils dance for joy of the spring,
Pure as the dawn from the dark ring of night.
And then my bright river, so full and so free,
Well may the fairies keep revelry round,
Sings as it wanders through woodland and lea.
There where you cleave the thin air at a bound,

And rush on the crag with your white arms outspread -

Only a fairy could step where you tread
Fed with a thousand invisible rills,
'Mid the deep echoes you pause to arouse,
Girdled around with the awe of the hills,
'Mid the grim rocks with the frown on their brows,
High in the mountains you spring to the light,
Type of young Freedom, bold river, to me;
Pure as the dawn from the dark ring of night.
Leaping the crags, sweeping down, to Lough Neagh.
Well may the fairies keep revelry round,
Many a ruin, both abbey and cot,
There where you cleave the thin air at a bound,
Sees in your mirror its desolate lot.
And rush on the crag with your white arms outspread -
Many an ear lying shut far away
Only a fairy could step where you tread
Hearkened the tune that your dark ripples play.
'Mid the deep echoes you pause to arouse,
One - I remember her better than all -
'Mid the grim rocks with the frown on their brows,
She knew every legend of cabin and hall;
Type of young Freedom, bold river, to me;
Wept when the Law and the Famine-time met,
Leaping the crags, sweeping down, to Lough Neagh.
Sang how the Red Hand was radiantly set

Over the victors who fought at the Ford,*

Over the sweep of O'Neill's Spanish sword -
Many a ruin, both abbey and cot,
O our own river! where is she to-night?
Sees in your mirror its desolate lot.
Where are the exiles whose homes are in sight?
Many an ear lying shut far away
Once in the Maytime your carol so sweet
Hearkened the tune that your dark ripples play.
Found out my heart in the midst of the street.
One - I remember her better than all -
Ah! how I listened, and you murmured low
She knew every legend of cabin and hall;
Hope, wide as earth and as white as the snow;
Wept when the Law and the Famine-time met,
Hope that, alas! like the foam on your breast,
Sang how the Red Hand was radiantly set
Broke and was drifted away from its rest.
Over the victors who fought at the Ford,*
Peace did not pass from your bonny broom shore,
Over the sweep of O'Neill's Spanish sword -

O our own river! where is she to-night?
Lost though the hope unto me evermore,
Where are the exiles whose homes are in sight?
Lost, like your song - for I think it a sigh

Stirs that deep heart when I listen anigh.

Only at dusk does it sound like farewell,
Once in the Maytime your carol so sweet
Just a goodbye to myself and the dell.
Found out my heart in the midst of the street.

Ah! how I listened, and you murmured low

Hope, wide as earth and as white as the snow;
Hope that, alas! like the foam on your breast,
Broke and was drifted away from its rest.
Peace did not pass from your bonny broom shore,
Lost though the hope unto me evermore,
Lost, like your song - for I think it a sigh
Stirs that deep heart when I listen anigh.
Only at dusk does it sound like farewell,
Just a goodbye to myself and the dell.






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