ASTHOREEN MOCHREE.
[_]
Air: “Astóirín Mochree.”
I
Spring with its gay flowers the fields was adorning,
Streams through the wildwood sang sweetly and free,
As I 'scaped from my cell at the dawn of the morning,
My dark tyrant scorning, Asthoreen Mochree.
II
O, in that prison my heart was all sadness;
The long days fell gloomy and heavy on me,
Still thinking I never might see thee in gladness,
Still brooding in madness, Asthoreen Mochree.
III
Now I've escaped, but such darkness was never;
How could the brightness arise save from thee?
Black woe and despair, they have crossed my endeavour;—
Thou art sleeping for ever, Asthoreen Mochree.
IV
Out in the forest the branches are shaking;
There the lone Banshee is wailing for me;
From the wide-spreading trees the boughs she is taking,
My bier she is making, Asthoreen Mochree.
V
Soon we shall meet in the grave's silent dwelling;
O, but 'tis joy thus to slumber with thee;
Soon soon shall the keeners my hard fate be telling,
And my death-bell be knelling, Asthoreen Mochree.
