And, borne on evening's salted breeze,
The clanking sea-birds' song
Shall round her airy chamber float,
And with the whispering winds and streams,
Attune to Nature's tenderest note
The tenor of her dreams.
And oft at tranquil eve's decline,
When full tides lap the Old Green Plain,
The lowing Moynalty's kine
Shall round her breathe again.