An Irish Toast.

Here's to dear Ould Ireland,
    Here's to the Irish lass,
Here's to Dennis and Mike and Pat,
    Here's to the sparkling glass.
Here's to the Irish copper,
    He may be green all right,
But you bet he's Mickie on the spot
    Whenever it comes to a fight.
Here's to Robert Emmet, too,
    And here's to our dear Tom Moore.
Here's to the Irish shamrock,
    Here's to the land we adore.

Edwin C. Ranck

Edwin C. Ranck was an American lyricist noted for his work in the early 20th century. He was a prolific writer and his lyrics were often characterized by their humor and wit. One of his standout works is the poem 'The Optimist', which reflects his positive outlook on life. Beyond that, little is known about his personal life or career. He remains a somewhat obscure figure in literary history.

Edwin C. Ranck

Stylish.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

April Fool.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

A Hardship.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

Modern Maud Muller.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To Thomas Moore, Esq.

Here's a health to thee, Bard of Erin!
    To the goblet's brim we will fill;
For all that to life is endearing,
    Thy strains have made dearer still!

Wherever fond woman's eyes eclipse
    The midnight moon's soft ray;
Whenever around dear woman's lips,
    The smiles of affection play:

We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin!
    To the goblet's brim we will fill,
For all that to life is endearing,
    Thy strains have made dearer still!

Wherever the warrior's sword is bound
    With the laurel of victory,
Wherever the patriot's brow is crowned
    With the halo of liberty:

We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin!
    To the goblet's brim we will fill;
For all that to life is endearing
    Thy strains have made dearer still!<...

Frances Anne Kemble

The Toast.

    Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast,
    Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!
    That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that we found;
    For their fame it shall last while the world goes round.
    The next in succession, I'll give you, the King!
    Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing;
    And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution,
    As built on the base of the great Revolution;
    And longer with politics not to be cramm'd,
    Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd;
    And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal,
    May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial.

Robert Burns

St. Patrick's Day.

    There's an Isle, a green Isle, set in the sea,
    Here's to the Saint that blessed it!
    And here's to the billows wild and free
    That for centuries have caressed it!

    Here's to the day when the men that roam
    Send longing eyes o'er the water!
    Here's to the land that still spells home
    To each loyal son and daughter!

    Here's to old Ireland - fair, I ween,
    With the blue skies stretched above her!
    Here's to her shamrock warm and green,
    And here's to the hearts that love her!

Jean Blewett

St. Andrew's Day - A Toast.

    Wha cares if skies be dull and gray?
    Wha heeds November weather?
    Let ilka Scot be glad to-day
    The whole wide warl' thegither.

    We're a' a prood and stubborn lot,
    And clannish - sae fowk name us -
    Ay, but with sic guid cause none ought
    Tae judge us, or tae blame us,

    For joys that are we'll pledge to-day
    A land baith fair and glowing -
    Here's tae the hames o' Canada,
    Wi' luve and peace o'erflowing!

    For joys that were, for auld lang syne,
    For tender chords that bind us,
    A toast - your hand, auld friend, in mine -
    "The land we left behind us!"

    Ho, lowlanders! Ho, hielandmen!
    We'll toast her a' thegither,
    Here's tae each bonnie loch and glen!
    Here's...

Jean Blewett

Oh The Shamrock.

    Thro' Erin's Isle,
    To sport awhile,
As Love and Valor wandered,
    With Wit, the sprite,
    Whose quiver bright
A thousand arrows squandered.
    Where'er they pass,
    A triple grass^[1]
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming.
    As softly green
    As emeralds seen
Thro' purest crystal gleaming.
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
    Chosen leaf.
    Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock!

    Says Valor, "See,
    "They spring for me,
"Those leafy gems of morning!"--
    Says Love, "No, no,
    "For me they grow,
"My fragrant path adorning."
    But Wit perceives
    The triple leaves,
And cries, "Oh! do not sever
    "A type, that blends
    "Three godlike ...

Thomas Moore

A Toast.

Here's a health to thee, Roberts,
And here's a health to me;
And here's to all the pretty girls
From Denver to the sea!

Here's to mine and here's to thine!
Now's the time to clink it!
Here's a flagon of old wine,
And here are we to drink it.

Wine that maketh glad the heart
Of the bully boy!
Here's the toast that we love most,
"Love and song and joy!"

Song that is the flower of love,
And joy that is the fruit!
Here's the love of woman, lad,
And here's our love to boot!

You and I are far too wise
Not to fill our glasses.
Here's to me and here's to thee,
And here's to all the lasses!

Bliss Carman