 | Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 |  |
38
IRISH MELODY. No. 4.
I heard a voice by Morno's stream,
A voice of bitter wail,
That mourned beneath the moon's pale beam
The woes of Innisfail.
The gale that sighed through Morno's groves
Was hushed to hear the lay,
And Morno's stream that swiftly roves
Then lingered on its way.
A voice of bitter wail,
That mourned beneath the moon's pale beam
The woes of Innisfail.
The gale that sighed through Morno's groves
Was hushed to hear the lay,
And Morno's stream that swiftly roves
Then lingered on its way.
“Ah, where,” it cried, “is freedom's flower
That bloomed on plain and hill,
Thy chiefs of fame, thy kings of power,
Thy bards of matchless skill?
Ah, withered are thy glories all,
Thy blossoms cease to blow,
Thy harp hangs silent on the wall,
Or echoes nought but woe.
That bloomed on plain and hill,
Thy chiefs of fame, thy kings of power,
Thy bards of matchless skill?
Ah, withered are thy glories all,
Thy blossoms cease to blow,
Thy harp hangs silent on the wall,
Or echoes nought but woe.
“But one sad joy to me belongs,
Which sorrow well may claim,
That stranger bards shall sing the songs
Of Erin's former fame.
And hearts shall throb with pity's throes
At Erin's mournful lay,
And eyes shall weep for Erin's woes
When mine are closed for aye!”
Which sorrow well may claim,
39
Of Erin's former fame.
And hearts shall throb with pity's throes
At Erin's mournful lay,
And eyes shall weep for Erin's woes
When mine are closed for aye!”
| Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 | |