The Flower of Gortade
Source: The Stone Fiddle by Paddy Tunney
Location: New Edition, page 132 / 133
Descend, ye chaste Muses, ye bards and ye sages,
And Orpheus who tamed roaring beasts with his Iyre.
Ye ancient historians that’s dead many ages,
I hope you’ll awake and my genius inspire.
Ye great men of learning lend me approbation,
Ye gods and philosophers lend me you aid,
In praise of a fair one I leave this nation.
She’s the bright star of Erin and the Flower of Gortade.
O were I as Homer that prince of the writers,
Who sang of Athenians and Spartans of old.
Could I paint with the skills of a Roman inditer,
The fame of this fair one can never be told.
Penelope, Venus, Diana and Flora,
Whose beauty and chastity never can fade,
Fair Helen, Lucretia and famous Aurora,
Even these wouldn’t equal the Flower of Gortade.
Unrivalled she stands ‘mid the daughters of Erin
For style and for beauty none can her excel.
On the fourth of September my bark she is steering
Far, far from the spot I did formerly dwell.
The consorts of Hector who are mentioned in story,
Susanna whose virtue is still undecayed,
Queen Dido who dwelt with her sovereign in the glory,
Even these wouldn’t equal the Flower of Gortade.
Adieu to old Erin, the land of my childhood,
Where luxury, wealth and magnificence rove.
No more I’ll traverse o’er the plain and the wildwood,
Or list to the mavis that sings in the grove.
And if to Columbia God send me safe over,
I’ll write a few lines to my own comrade maid,
Who along with her sister and my dear old mother,
Await my return once again to Gortade.