No-vain, alas! th' endeavour From bonds so sweet to sever; Poor Wisdom's chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever! OH! WHERE'S THE SLAVE! AIR-Sios agus sios liom. OH! where's the slave so lowly, His bonds at first, Would pine beneath them slowly? What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, Would wait till time decay'd it, When thus its wing At once may spring To the throne of Him who made it? Farewell, Erin! farewell all, Who live to weep our fall! Less dear the laurel growing, Than that, whose braid The brows with victory glowing! Our green flag glitters o'er us, Are by our side, And the foe we hate before us! Farewell, Erin! farewell all Who live to weep our fall! COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. AIR-Lough Sheeling. COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer! Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here: Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'er cast, And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last! Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torments, through glory and shame! I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art! |