Essays and Such
Irish Cultural Society
of San Antonio Texas
Promoting Awareness of Irish Culture
Morning on the Irish Coast
(aka The Exile's Return)
by John Locke
THE EXILE'S RETURN
"Morning on the Irish coast" (aka "The Exiles Return") by John Locke D'anam chun De! but there it is — The dawn on the hills of Ireland ! God's angels lifting the night's black veil From the fair, sweet face of my sireland ! O, Ireland! isn't grand you look — Like a bride in her rich adornin ! With all the pent-up love of my heart I bid you the top of the morning ! This one short hour pays lavishly back For many a year of mourning; I'd almost venture another flight, There's so much joy in returning — Watching out for the hallowed shore, All other attractions scornin; O, Ireland! don't you hear me shout? I bid you the top o' the morning! O, kindly, generous Irish land, So leal and fair and loving! No wonder the wandering Celt should think And dream of you in his roving. The alien home may have gems and gold, Shadows may never have gloomed it; But the heart will sigh for the absent land Where the love-light first illumed it Ho, ho ! upon Cliodhna's shelving strand The surges are grandly beating, And Kerry is pushing her headlands out To give us the kindly greeting! Into the shore the sea - birds fly On pinions that know no drooping, And out from the cliffs, with welcomes charged, A million of waves come trooping. For thirty Summers, a stoir mo chroidhe, Those hills I now feast my eyes on Ne'er met my vision save when they rose Over memory's dim horizon. E'en so, 'twas grand and fair they seemed In the landscape spread before me; But dreams are dreams, and my eyes would open To see a Texas' sky still o'er me. And doesn't old Cobh look charming there Watching the wild waves' motion, Leaning her back up against the hills, And the tip of her toes in the ocean. I wonder I don't hear Shandon's bells— Ah! maybe their chiming's over, For it's many a year since I began The life of a western rover. Oh! often upon the Texas plains, When the day and the chase were over, My thoughts would fly o'er the weary wave, And around this coastline hover; And the prayer would rise that some future day- All danger and doubting scorning— I'd help to win for my native land The light of young Liberty's morning! Now fuller and truer the shoreline shows— Was ever a scene so splendid? I feel the breath of the Munster breeze, Thank God that my exile's ended! Old scenes, old songs, old friends again, The vale and the cot I was born in— O, Ireland, up from my heart of hearts I bid you the top o' the mornin! John Locke was born in 1847 in Minauns, Callan, County Kilkenny. He died January 31, 1889 at the early age of 42 years in NY(?). "Dawn / Morning on the Irish Coast", written in 1877