Poem by Aubrey Thomas De Vere

Composed at Rydal, September, 1860

THE LAST great man by manlier times bequeathed
To these our noisy and self-boasting days
In this green valley rested, trod these ways,
With deep calm breast this air inspiring breathed;
True bard, because true man, his brow he wreathed
With wild-flowers only, singing Nature’s praise;
But Nature turned, and crowned him with her bays,
And said, “Be thou my Laureate.” Wisdom sheathed
In song love-humble; contemplations high,
That built like larks their nests upon the ground;
Insight and vision; sympathies profound
That spanned the total of humanity,—
These were the gifts which God poured forth at large
On men through him; and he was faithful to his charge.

1. Kinsale
2. To a Flower on the Skirts of Mont Blanc
3. A Ballad of Athlone; Or, How They Broke down the Bridge
4. Roisin Dubh; Or, the Bleeding Heart
5. The Dirge of Athunree

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