Denis Florence MacCarthy



 (26 May 1817 – 9 April 1882) was an Irish poet, translator, and biographer, from Dublin.

Quotes

 * The pillar towers of Ireland, how wondrously they stand By the lakes and rushing rivers through the valleys of our land; In mystic file, through the isle, they lift their heads sublime, These gray old pillar temples, these conquerors of time!
 * From "The Pillar Towers of Ireland" in Poems (Dublin, 1882); quoted by Sean McMahon in A Book of Irish Quotations (1984), p. 91


 * Youth’s bright palace Is overthrown, With its diamond sceptre  And golden throne;  As a time-worn stone Its turrets are humbled— All hath crumbled  But grief alone!Whither, O whither  Have fled away The dreams and hopes  Of my early day?  Ruin’d and grey Are the towers I builded; And the beams that gilded—  Ah, where are they?Once this world  Was fresh and bright, With its golden noon  And its starry night:  Glad and light, By mountain and river, Have I bless’d the Giver  With hush’d delight.Youth’s illusions  One by one Have pass’d like clouds  That the sun look’d on.  While morning shone, How purple their fringes! How ashy their tinges  When that was gone!As fire-flies fade  When the nights are damp— As meteors are quench’d  In a stagnant swamp—  Thus Charlemagne’s camp Where the Paladins rally, And the Diamond valley,  And the Wonderful Lamp,And all the wonders  Of Ganges and Nile, And Haroun’s rambles,  And Crusoe’s isle,  And Princes who smile On the Genii’s daughters ’Neath the Orient waters  Full many a mile,And all that the pen  Of Fancy can write Must vanish in manhood’s  Misty light;  Squire and Knight, And damosel’s glances, Sunny romances,  So pure and bright!These have vanish’d,  And what remains? Life’s budding garlands  Have turn’d to chains—  Its beams and rains Feed but docks and thistles, And sorrow whistles  O’er desert plains.
 * "Lament" in Ballads, Poems, and Lyrics (1850), p. 126