He turn’d him right and round about Upon the Irish shore; And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore, My dear; With adieu for evermore.
The sodger from the wars returns, The sailor frae the main; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear; Never to meet again.
When day is gane, and night is come, And a’ folk bound to sleep; I think on him that’s far awa’, The lee-lang night, and weep, My dear; The lee-lang night, and weep.
R. Burns.
[ THE HARP THAT ONCE
THROUGH TARA’S HALLS]
The harp that once through Tara’s halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory’s thrill is o’er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells: The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives.
T. Moore.