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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 453 |
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Sang how the Red Hand was radiantly set Over the victors who fought at the Ford1 Over the sweep of O'Neill's Spanish sword — O our own river ! where is she to-night ? Where are the exiles whose homes are in sight ?
Once in the Maytime your carol so sweet Found out my heart in the midst of the street. Ah ! how I listened, and you murmured low Hope, wide as earth and as white as the snow; Hope that, alas ! like the foam on your breast, Broke and was drifted away from its rest. Peace did not pass from your bonny broom shore, Lost though the hope unto me evermore, Lost, like your song—for I think it a sigh Stirs that deep heart when I listen'anigh. Only at dusk does it sound like farewell, Just a good-bye to myself and the dell. |
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1 TheFord, Beal-anatha-Buidhe. with this title. |
See Dr. Drennan's poem |
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