Floral Poetry. 
THE SHAMROCK. 
mHROUGH Erin’s Isle, 
^ To sports awhile, 
As Love and Valour wandered, 
With Wit, the sprite, 
Whose quiver bright 
A thousand arrows squandered. 
Where’er they pass, 
A triple grass 
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, 
As softly green 
As emerald seen 
Through purest crystal gleaming. 
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal 
Shamrock ! 
Chosen leaf 
Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin’s native Shamrock ! 
Says Valour, “ See, 
They spring for me, 
Those leafy gems of morning! ” 
Says Love, “ No, no, 
For me they grow, 
My fragrant path adorning.” 
But Wit perceives 
The triple leaves, 
And cries, “ Oh ! do not sever 
A type that blends 
Three godlike friends, 
Love, Valour, Wit, for ever ! ” 
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal 
Shamrock ! 
Chosen leaf 
Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin’s native Shamrock ! 
So firmly fond 
May last the bond 
They wove that morn together, 
And ne’er may fall 
One drop of gall 
On Wit’s celestial feather. 
May Love, as twine 
His flowers divine, 
Of thorny falsehood weed ’em • 
May Valour ne’er 
His standard rear 
Against the cause of Freedom ! 
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal 
Shamrock ! 
Chosen leaf 
Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin’s native Shamrock ! 
Moore. 
