Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Ireland: Vol. V. 1876–79.
The Song of O’Ruark, Prince of Breffni
By Thomas Moore (1779–1852)T
Where lately I left her behind;
Yet I trembled, and something hung o’er me,
That saddened the joy of my mind.
I looked for the lamp which she told me
Should shine when her pilgrim returned;
But, though darkness began to infold me,
No lamp from the battlements burned!
As if the loved tenant lay dead;—
Ah, would it were death, and death only!
But no—the young false one had fled.
And there hung the lute, that could soften
My very worst pains into bliss,
While the hand that had waked it so often
Now throbbed to a proud rival’s kiss.
When Breffni’s good sword would bave sought
That man, through a million of foemen,
Who dared but to wrong thee in thought!
While now, O degenerate daughter
Of Erin! how fallen is thy fame!
And through ages of bondage and slaughter
Our country shall bleed for thy shame.
And strangers her valleys profane;
They come to divide, to dishonor,
And tyrants they long will remain.
But, onward! the green banner rearing,
Go, flesh every sword to the hilt;
On our side is Virtue and Erin,
On theirs is the Saxon and Guilt.