Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 7
Forget not the field where they perish'd,|
The truest, the last of the brave,
All gone - and the bright hope we cherish'd
Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave!
2. Oh! could we from death but recover
3. Could the chain for an instant be riven|
Which Tyranny flung round us then,
No, 'tis not in Man, nor in Heaven,
To let Tyranny bind it again!
4. But 'tis past - and, though blazon'd in story
5. For dearer the grave or the prison,|
Illumed by one patriot name,
Than the trophies of all who have risen
On Liberty's ruins to fame.
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