The Song of O'Ruark, Prince of Breffni
The valley lay smiling before me,Where lately I left her behind;Yet I trembled, and something hung o'er me,That sadden'd the joy of my mind.I look'd for the lamp which, she told me,Should shine when her Pilgrim return'd;But, though darkness began to infold me,No lamp from the battlements burn'd!
I flew to her chamber -- 'twas lonely,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 softenMy very worst pains into bliss;While the hand that had waked it so oftenNow throbb'd to a proud rival's kiss.
There was a time, falsest of women,When Breffni's good sword would have soughtThat man, through a million of foemen,Who dared but to wrong thee in thought!While now -- oh degenerate daughterOf Erin, how fallen is thy fame!And through ages of bondage and slaughter,Our country shall bleed for thy shame.
Already the curse is upon her,And strangers her valleys profane;They come to divide, to dishonour,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.
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