Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 2
Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water,|
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose,
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter
Tell's to the night-star her tale of woes.
When shall the swan, her death-note singing,
Sleep, with wings in darkness furl'd?
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit from this stormy world?
2. Sadly, oh Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping,
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