Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 9
As vanquish'd Erin wept beside|
The Boyne's ill-fated river,
She saw where Discord, in the tide,
Had dropp'd his loaded quiver.
"Lie hid," she cried, "ye venom'd darts,
Where mortal eye may shun you;
Lie hid - the stain of manly hearts,
That bled for me, is on you."
2. But vain her wish, her weeping vain|
As Time too well hath taught her
Each year the Fiend returns again,
And dives into that water;
And brings, triumphant, from beneath
His shafts of desolation,
And sends them, wing'd with worse than death,
Through all her maddening nation.
3. Alas for her who sits and mourns,|
Even now, beside that river
Unwearied still the Fiend returns,
And stored is still his quiver.
"When will this end, ye Powers of Good?"
She weeping asks for ever;
But only hears, from out that flood,
The Demon answer, "Never!"
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