The Irish Poet and the Natural World: An Anthology of Verse in English from the Tudors to the Romantics

William H. Drummond (1778–1797–1856)

336 WILLIAM HAMILTON DRUMMOND (1778–1797–1856) ‘Hibernia’, which first appeared anonymously in the Belfast radical newspaper The Northern Star, is normally attributed to William Hamilton Drummond, clergyman, antiquarian and (later) author of the best-known poem on the Giant’s Causeway (see below). Like much of the verse that appeared in Irish newspapers and pamphlets during the 1790s, the poem reflects increasing political and social tensions. Union with Britain would, in the poet’s eyes, restore Ireland to the state for which Nature had designed her. from: Hibernia, a poem Much injur’d Erin! Faction troubl’d isle! No more the land where Peace and Concord smile! Rous’d by thy wrongs to patriotic ire, For thee I tune the bold adventurous lyre: … Oh why did Nature, with too lavish hand, Scatter profusion o’er thy smiling land, Nutritious moisture thro’ thy veins infuse, And pour down plenty in salubrious dews? If thou must ne’er those tranquil pleasures know, That from Contentment’s source unsullied flow, 10 Why form’d thee thus replete with ev’ry good, Bade no dire ills on thy blest soil intrude; But made thee flourish ever fair and green, The mart of Commerce, and of isles the Queen? For this, at her omnific1 word, arose Tall rocky bulwarks, terror of thy foes; And girt thy craggy shores, but pleas’d to form Thy harbours safe against th’encroaching storm; Scoop’d them capacious, sandy, deep and wide, At once thy boast, thy ornament and pride. 20 And made them point around where ev’ry breeze, Wafts the bold sons of ocean o’er the seas. She form’d thy streams majestic, broad and strong, Where Commerce rolls her richest stores along; all-creating. 1 337 William Hamilton Drummond Pours wealth and splendour from the torrid zone, And gluts thy soil with riches not thy own: Where all the finny tribes abundant stray, That in the brook or stream deep-rolling play. Now here she bade the rugged mountain rise, Swell o’er the vale and tow’r amid the skies. 30 There rais’d the cliff, whose tall terrific side, Frowns on the vale below with haughty pride; Dash’d the wild cascade o’er the cloud-capt rock, Shaking old earth beneath th’impetuous shock, And sent it glad’ning, with a thousand rills, The vales embosom’d in a thousand hills. She spread abroad the lake’s extensive floods, And crown’d thy vallies with umbrageous woods. Bade flow’rs spontaneous deck the verdant soil, Her choicest gifts reward the labourer’s toil; 40 With scenes Arcadian made thy landscapes teem, And realize each old romantic dream. She made thy sons magnanimous and brave, Hardy and just, and ever prone to save, To succour those tyrannic laws oppress, And cure the pungent wound of deep distress; In war impetuous as the tempest’s rage, When North and South on ocean’s breast engage. She gave thy daughters all the charms of youth, Angelic beauty, elegance, and truth: 50 And tho’ she made them fair, she made them wise, Such as pure virtue for her own might prize; Bade ev’ry female grace their minds adorn, Mild as th’ambrosial breath of orient morn, Chaste as the pearly drop depending from the thorn. When all was finish’d with complacent smile, The Goddess view’d the gay luxuriant isle; With wonder all the scenes she drew survey’d, And seem’d astonish’d at the work she made. And thus with energy divine she cries, 60 ‘Thou loveliest isle beneath the concave skies, Of all the isles that Nature’s bounty share, Thee has she made the most supremely fair. } 338 Let Indian climes rich orange groves produce, And boast the milky Coco’s nectarous juice; Let those soft realms that view the rising day, And where fierce Phœbus shoots a downward ray, Boast the rich soil replete with flaming mines, The luscious figtree, and the clustring vines; Let Hebrus2 wander o’er his bed of Gold, 70 And seven-mouth’d Ganges richest plains behold; Rich in their fields by luxury o’er-ran, And rich in all things but high-minded man: Such fruitful glebes, such wealth you envy not, Blest is an humbler and more happy lot. No storm on thee with polar fury blows; No Sun with equinoctial fervour glows: Here no dire blasts pestiferous...