Ballads of Irish chivalry By Robert Dwyer Joyce: Edited, with Annotations, by his brother P. W. Joyce |
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ASTHOREEN MOCHREE. |
 | Ballads of Irish chivalry |  |
ASTHOREEN 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.
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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.
| Ballads of Irish chivalry | |