| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 395 |
||
|
The weeds that line the clifted shore
Were all his burial shroud. For friendly wail and holy dirge,
And long lament of love, Around him roared the angry surge,
The curlew screamed above. Mo Chuma ! lorn am I! My grief would turn to rapture now, Might I but touch that pallid brow.
The stream-born bubbles soonest burst
That earliest left the source; Buds earliest blown are faded first
In Nature's wonted course. With guarded pace her seasons creep,
By slow decay expire; The young above the aged weep,
The son above the sire.
Mo Chuma I lorn am I! That death a backward course should hold, To smite the young and spare the old. |
||
|
|
||