 | Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 |  |
36
IRISH MELODY. No. 3.
Darkness sinks upon heath and hill,
Jocund day dethroning;
November's blast is loud and chill,
Through wood and valley moaning.
Of the garlands gay that graced each bough
Scarce one red leaf's remaining,
And the gloomy groves of the change are now
To the reckless winds complaining.
Jocund day dethroning;
November's blast is loud and chill,
Through wood and valley moaning.
Of the garlands gay that graced each bough
Scarce one red leaf's remaining,
And the gloomy groves of the change are now
To the reckless winds complaining.
Erin, such is thy pitiful plight,
Fled is thy summer morning;
Thy sun of glory has sunk in night,
No longer thy hills adorning.
The stranger came like the whirlwind dread,
Of pomp and of power he bereft thee;
Of the glorious wreath which encircled thy head,
But a few withered leaves are left thee.
Fled is thy summer morning;
Thy sun of glory has sunk in night,
No longer thy hills adorning.
The stranger came like the whirlwind dread,
Of pomp and of power he bereft thee;
Of the glorious wreath which encircled thy head,
But a few withered leaves are left thee.
Erin mavourneen! alas! how long
Shall thy minstrels mark thee declining?
Land of bravery, beauty, and song,
How long shalt thou be pining?
Shall I once more behold thy brow
Its ancient glories regaining?
Or must my harp like the blighted bough
Be still to the winds complaining?
Shall thy minstrels mark thee declining?
37
How long shalt thou be pining?
Shall I once more behold thy brow
Its ancient glories regaining?
Or must my harp like the blighted bough
Be still to the winds complaining?
| Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 | |