| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 3 |
||
|
Perchance the lion stalking still shuns that hallowed
spot, For beast and bird have seen and heard that which
man knoweth not I
But when the Warrior dieth, his comrades in the war, With arms reversed and muffled drum, follow his
funeral car; They show the banners taken, they tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed, while peals
the minute-gun.
Amid the noblest of the land we lay the Sage to rest, And give the Bard an honored place, with costly
marble drest,— In the great minster transept, where lights like glories
fall, And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings, along
the emblazoned wall.
This was the truest warrior that ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet that ever breathed a word; And never earth's philosopher traced with his golden
pen, On the deathless page, truths half so sage as he wrote
down for men.
And had he not high honor,—the hillside for a pall ? To lie in state, while angels wait, with stars for tapers
tall? And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes, over his
bier to wave ! And God's own hand, in that lonely land, to lay him
in the grave! |
||