Padraic Colum (1881–1972). Anthology of Irish Verse. 1922.
By Thomas Furlong85. John ODwyer of the Glen
B
Rest with strength had crown’d me,
Sweet the birds sang around me
Sport was their toil.
Forth the fox was creeping,
Round each dame stood weeping,
O’er the prowler’s spoil.
Fast the woods are falling,
Scenes and sights appalling
Mark the wasted soil.
Curse the fallen nation;
Gloom and desolation
Shade the lost land o’er,
Death aloft is going,
Peace or hope seems growing
For our race no more.
Fast the woods are falling,
Scenes and sights appalling
Throng the blood-stained shore
From their homes have parted,
Scattered, scared, and started
By a base-born band.
Girls beloved, endearing,
Friends from whom I’m steering,
Take this parting tear.