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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396750" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ireland</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fire in her ashes Ireland feels<br>And in her veins a glow of heat.<br>To her the lost old time, appeals<br>For resurrection, good to greet:<br>Not as a shape with spectral eyes,<br>But humanly maternal, young<br>In all that quickens pride, and wise<br>To speak the best her bards have sung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You read her as a land distraught,<br>Where bitterest rebel passions seethe.<br>Look with a core of heart in thought,<br>For so is known the truth beneath.<br>She came to you a loathing bride,<br>And it has been no happy bed.<br>Believe in her as friend, allied<br>By bonds as close as those who wed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her speech is held for hatred's cry;<br>Her silence tells of treason hid:<br>Were it her aim to burst the tie,<br>She sees what iron laws forbid.<br>Excess of heart obscures from view<br>A head as keen as yours to count.<br>Trust her, that she may prove her true<br>In links whereof is love the fount.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">May she not call herself her own?<br>That is her cry, and thence her spits<br>Of fury, thence her graceless tone<br>At justice given in bits and bits.<br>The limbs once raw with gnawing chains<br>Will fret at silken when God's beams<br>Of Freedom beckon o'er the plains<br>From mounts that show it more than dreams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She, generous, craves your generous dole;<br>That will not rouse the crack of doom.<br>It ends the blundering past control<br>Simply to give her elbow-room.<br>Her offspring feels they are a race,<br>To be a nation is their claim;<br>Yet stronger bound in your embrace<br>Than when the tie was but a name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A nation she, and formed to charm,<br>With heart for heart and hands all round.<br>No longer England's broken arm,<br>Would England know where strength is found.<br>And strength to-day is England's need;<br>To-morrow it may be for both<br>Salvation: heed the portents, heed<br>The warnings; free the mind from sloth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too long the pair have danced in mud,<br>With no advance from sun to sun.<br>Ah, what a bounding course of blood<br>Has England with an Ireland one!<br>Behold yon shadow cross the downs,<br>And off away to yeasty seas.<br>Lightly will fly old rancour's frowns<br>When solid with high heart stand these.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Meredith">George Meredith</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=396750" data-title="Ireland de George Meredith" data-description="Fire in her ashes Ireland feels
And in her veins a glow of heat.
To her the lost old time, appeals
For resurrection, good to greet:
Not as a shape with spectral eyes,
But humanly maternal, young
In all that quickens pride, and wise
To speak the be..."></div>
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