Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 4
By that Lake, whose gloomy shore*|
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,**
Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep.
"Here, at least," he calmly said,
"Woman ne'er shall find my bed."
Ah! the good Saint little knew
What that wily sex can do.
2. 'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew
3. On the bold cliff's bosom cast,|
Tranquil now he sleeps at last;
Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.
But nor earth nor heaven is free
From her power, if fond she be:
Even now, while calm he sleeps,
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps.
4. Fearless she had track'd his feet
5. Glendalough, thy gloomy wave|
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave!
Soon the Saint (yet ah! too late,)
Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate.
When he said, "Heaven rest her soul!"
Round the Lake light music stole;
And her ghost was seen to glide,
Smiling, o'er the fatal tide.
** There are many other curious traditions concerning this Lake, which may be found in Giraldus, Colgan, etc. - notes from Irish Melodies.
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