 | Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 |  |
33
IRISH MELODY. No. 1.
Hence! my dream of bliss is o'er,
And pleasure's syren voice no more
Can lull to rest the tortured heart,
Or pluck away the poisoned dart
Deceit hath planted there.
In vain by moonlight in the grove
Sweet music's voice awakens love;
The harp hath lost its power to charm,
And woman's eye no more can warm.
Ah, fled! ah, fled!
Fled is now that faithless maid,
And broken every spell she laid
Around these scenes so fair.
And pleasure's syren voice no more
Can lull to rest the tortured heart,
Or pluck away the poisoned dart
Deceit hath planted there.
In vain by moonlight in the grove
Sweet music's voice awakens love;
The harp hath lost its power to charm,
And woman's eye no more can warm.
Ah, fled! ah, fled!
Fled is now that faithless maid,
And broken every spell she laid
Around these scenes so fair.
Welcome now, thou wintry hour,
Here exert thy baneful power,
Blight the once belovéd bowers,
And wither all the fragrant flowers
That round them fondly twine.
For falsehood's frost hath nipped the bloom
Of this young heart, and now the gloom
Of deep despair holds sov'reign sway
Where love late shed his lucid ray,
Ah, fled! ah, fled!
Fled is now that beam of light,
And never more shall its lustre bright
Illume this soul of mine.
Here exert thy baneful power,
Blight the once belovéd bowers,
And wither all the fragrant flowers
That round them fondly twine.
For falsehood's frost hath nipped the bloom
Of this young heart, and now the gloom
34
Where love late shed his lucid ray,
Ah, fled! ah, fled!
Fled is now that beam of light,
And never more shall its lustre bright
Illume this soul of mine.
| Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 | |