| William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909. | | | | The Groves of Blarney | | By Richard Alfred Millikin (1767–1815) |
| | | THE GROVES of Blarney | |
| They look so charming, | |
| Down by the purling | |
| Of sweet silent streams, | |
| Being banked with posies, | 5 |
| That spontaneous grow there, | |
| Planted in order | |
| By the sweet rock close. | |
| ’Tis there’s the daisy | |
| And the sweet carnation, | 10 |
| The blooming pink, | |
| And the rose so fair; | |
| The daffodowndilly— | |
| Likewise the lily, | |
| All flowers that scent | 15 |
| The sweet fragrant air. | |
| |
| ’Tis Lady Jeffers | |
| That owns this station; | |
| Like Alexander, | |
| Or Queen Helen fair; | 20 |
| There’s no commander | |
| In all the nation, | |
| For emulation, | |
| Can with her compare. | |
| Such walls surround her, | 25 |
| That no nine-pounder | |
| Could dare to plunder | |
| Her place of strength; | |
| But Oliver Cromwell, | |
| Her he did pommel, | 30 |
| And made a breach | |
| In her battlement. | |
| |
| There’s gravel walks there, | |
| For speculation, | |
| And conversation | 35 |
| In sweet solitude. | |
| ’Tis there the lover | |
| May hear the dove, or | |
| The gentle plover | |
| In the afternoon; | 40 |
| And if a lady | |
| Would be so engaging | |
| As to walk alone in | |
| Those shady bowers, | |
| ’Tis there the courtier | 45 |
| He may transport her | |
| Into some fort, or | |
| All under ground. | |
| |
| For ’tis there’s a cave where | |
| No daylight enters, | 50 |
| But cats and badgers | |
| Are forever bred; | |
| Being mossed by nature, | |
| That makes it sweeter | |
| Than a coach-and-six, | 55 |
| Or a feather-bed. | |
| ’Tis there the lake is, | |
| Well stored with perches, | |
| And comely eels in | |
| The verdant mud; | 60 |
| Besides the leeches, | |
| And groves of beeches, | |
| Standing in order | |
| For to guard the flood. | |
| |
| There’s statues gracing | 65 |
| This noble place in— | |
| All heathen gods | |
| And nymphs so fair; | |
| Bold Neptune, Plutarch, | |
| And Nicodemus, | 70 |
| All standing naked | |
| In the open air! | |
| So now to finish | |
| This brave narration, | |
| Which my poor geni’ | 75 |
| Could not entwine; | |
| But were I Homer, | |
| Or Nebuchadnezzar, | |
| ’Tis in every feature | |
| I would make it shine. | 80 | | | |
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