 | Ballads of Irish chivalry |  |
THE FORSAKEN.
I
The flowers are blooming by stream and fountain,The wild birds sing with a joyous tone,
And gladness gushes o'er vale and mountain,
But I am left to my grief alone—
To wail alone in love's deep devotion,
For young Dunlevy of the raven hair,
Has left his mountains, and crossed the ocean,
To fight for France and for glory there.
II
They tell me that his love is burningFor me as fond as e'er it has been,
But when, ah! when comes his sweet returning
To Erin's hills and his dark Eileen?
259
My young Dunlevy's brave pride and joy,
When he had won the bright meed of glory,
A captain's sabre at Fontenoy!
III
The foreign maidens could ne'er have bound himIn love's bright fetters, though fair they be,—
Yet ah! he comes not, though fame has found him,
And well I love him and he loves me;
Alas! their vengeance is not half taken
Upon the Saxon for his tyrannie,
And oh! how long shall I sit forsaken
To wail alone by the murmuring sea?
| Ballads of Irish chivalry | |