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The Harp of Erin

Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes

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THE GRAVE OF MORNO.

Heard ye not the moan profound
Bursting from yon blighted mound,
Where, amid the murky air,
The wild ash waves its branches bare?
There, in dark-brown dust array'd,
Morno's giant limbs are laid.
Who, like him, with grim delight,
Could front the hideous fiend of Fight?
When the spears, as rattling hail,
Bounded from his sable mail.
See! where from the blasted bough
Hangs the helm that grac'd his brow!
See! its rusty vizor gleam
To the pale moon's blood-shot beam!

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While its swinging plumage sighs
To the winds that mournful rise.
Never on the listed plain
Shall his broad bulk gloom again;
Never from his meteor-eye
Shall the sons of Fingal fly:
Never shall his cold lip taste
The honey'd scull, the rich repast;
Never bugle's mellow call
Invite him to the festal hall;
Nor his dull ear fondly dwell
On the shrill harp's silver swell.
What rose-lip'd virgins now prepare
The chaplet for his raven-hair?
Broider'd round with purple leaves,
Who the robe of honour weaves?
Crown'd by Honour, clasp'd by Love,
In vain:—his winding sheet is wove.
But the man of days to come,
Searching for the hero's tomb,
Hither by sad impulse led,
Shall incline his hoary head;
Aw'd to pious murmurs, breathe
Brief homage o'er the mould beneath,
Then, deeply-lesson'd, turn aside
From the lone wreck of human pride.