ORIGINAL POETRY.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 1, Issue 113, 15 June 1880, Page 2

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE CELTIC RACE. From where the Euxine, many-voiced, Rolls on its western shore, Sprang forth a gallant warrior race, Far in the days of yore. As ’neath the storm, that gloomy sea Brings terror on its crest, So did the Scythians’ flashing spears Bring terror on the West. From where the Danube rolls along, . To Tagus, and Garonne, Their kings won broad dominions, And many a splendid a throne. Far through the mists of ages, The Celt can proudly trace, The birth-place of War’s chivalry, > The cr idle of his race. Midst fair Iberia’s vine-clad hil's, Their monarchs live in story. And ages saw their chieftains rule The ocean’s emerald glory ; For there, at Wisdom’s shrine, they laid Each lance and htdm and ciest, And sages from green Tnnisfail Gave learning to the West. For in the wilds of Britain, The savage sought his lair ; The ruthless cry of barb’rous hordes Filled Europe’s startled air ; The Sea-kings of the North came forth, Fierce as their North’rn gales ; A world eclipsed knew light alone Midst Erin’s peaceful vales. To bold Caledonia, Fergus led, 1 ts mountains made his own ; There, on the Stone of Destiny, He built the Scottish throne ; And in his plaided warriors throbbed That noble Scythian strain. Which never flowed from craven heart, Nor ebbed in coward’s vein. And in the centuries, many a field That gallant blood hath dyed, From brave King Fergus’ time till now. With no exhausted tide. The glories of dead empires, ’ How small their hist’ries’ space ! The proudest of the living owns. Its stay— the Celtic Race. Still to the language of the Gods The Cambrian tunes his lyre, His harp-strings tremble to Love’s lay, Or ring with martial fire. Amongst the mountains and the vales, Where freedom found a home, When all beyond the Celt’s domain Lay at the feet of Rome. i With fear-built ramparts on the North, The legions met the Gael, And Roman foot dared not to tread The land of Innisfail; . For Cambria, Caledonia, ’ And Erin’s lovely face, ' Were guarded by the Van of War— The matchless Celtic Race. F Of Greece and Rome, grey ruins alone May tell their martial story, And on those ruins full many a race v Hath sprung to Empire’s glory ; j; But, vanquished in their turn—o’erthroan By conquering Decay, . They saw the noon-blaze of their fame. The shadowy evening ray. But, striding o’er the ruins of Time, 5 Behold the laurelled brave ! > On Rome’s proud Capitol, THEIR race j Hath seen its banners wave ; Their Hebrew s'res, in days of old, Beheld Jehovah’s face, And still Jehovah’s hand upholds 1 The ancient Celtic Race. ’ Ashburton. F.P.O’R.