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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342198" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Young Rebel</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun is setting behind the range,<br>His golden rays pour down<br>On a little figure, childish and strange,<br>Bending over a volume worn,<br>Whose green-clad cover, dusty and torn,<br>Bears a ‘harp without a crown.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The young eyes turn to the distant west,<br>Where the sunset colours glow,<br>And thoughts are thrilling the childish breast<br>Of a gallant, valorous deeds long done,<br>Of glorious battles fought and won<br>In the days of long ago.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His fancy peoples the lonely glen<br>With the ghosts of the vanished past,<br>Till he hears the tramp of armed men,<br>And O’Niall’s plumed horsemen ride<br>While the ‘Red Hand’ flutters in all its pride<br>Above them on the blast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, just where the road winds into the creek<br>Where the jasmine stars the shade,<br>With the soft winds kissing her blushing cheek,<br>Beautiful grey-eyed Dierdre stands<br>Stretching to Naisi her snowy hands-<br>Half-welcoming, half-dismayed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The purple hues of the gully change<br>With the deepening shades of night,<br>And, far in the nook of the distant range,<br>Is Michael Dwyer, of the Wicklow glen,<br>Holding his desperate stand again,<br>‘Gainst the redcoat soldier’s might.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The west wind rises across the creek,<br>And with it the crash of steel<br>Carries a flush to the listeners cheek-<br>‘Tis only the crash of the branches dry,<br>But in it he hears the battle-cry,<br>And the patriots’ words of zeal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And martyred shades come thronging around,<br>To the roll-call of Liberty:<br>Louder their eager voices sound,<br>Till towering tree-tops and glowing sky<br>Are echoing back the defiant cry—<br>“Michael! Answer for me!”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon is rising beyond the creek,<br>The shining stars look down<br>On a little dreamer, whose pillowed cheek<br>Rest, in sleep on a volume worn,<br>Whose green-glad cover, dusty and town,<br>Bears a ‘harp without a crown.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alice+Guerin+Crist">Alice Guerin Crist</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342198" data-title="The Young Rebel de Alice Guerin Crist" data-description="The sun is setting behind the range,
His golden rays pour down
On a little figure, childish and strange,
Bending over a volume worn,
Whose green-clad cover, dusty and torn,
Bears a ‘harp without a crown.”

The young eyes turn to the distant we..."></div>
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