 | Ballads of Irish chivalry |  |
LAMENT OF GARODH EARLA.
A.D. 1582.
I
The night is coming, with black clouds looming,With thunders' booming, and wild winds' moan;
The fierce wolf's yelling from Corrin swelling,
Our fate seems telling with mournful tone;
198
With maddening chorus down rough rocks pour,
Yet love beams clearly, tho' we sit drearly,
On death's brink nearly, by Mulla's shore.
II
What dreams were mine, love, ere hope's decline, love,In war to shine, love, for Innisfail;
Aye to defend her from those that rend her,
And cloud the splendour of the dauntless Gael;—
I reared each castle, I roused each vassal
From sloth and wassail, to grasp the spear,
And aye thro' gory red fields of glory
Bright triumph bore me for many a year.
III
And oh! I quailed not while true hearts failed not,But blood availed not to set her free,
For those whose might, love, should still e'en smite, love,
Grew faint in fight, love, and false to me;—
My power is broken, and each proud token
Of Erin woken has died away;
For each endeavour will fail for ever,
While brave hearts sever, and friends betray!
IV
We've now for vassal and lordly castleAnd blithe friends' wassail, this cave of gloom,
With cold winds sighing round the embers dying;
Yet still defying, we'll meet our doom,—
One joy will flourish, tho' power may perish,
That joy we'll cherish—we'll love the more,
And love beams clearly, tho' we sit drearly,
On death's brink nearly, by Mulla's shore!
| Ballads of Irish chivalry | |