Page:Irish minstrelsy, vol 2 - Hardiman.djvu/29

Rh

Dark source of my anguish! deep wound of a land,
 * Whose young and defenceless the loss will deplore;

The munificent spirit, the liberal hand,
 * Still stretched, the full bounty it prompted to pour.

The stone is laid o'er thee! the fair glossy braid,
 * The high brow, the light cheek with its roseate glow;

The bright form, and the berry that dwelt, and could fade,
 * On these lips, thou sage giver, all, all are laid low.

Like a swan on the billows she moved in her grace,
 * Snow white were her limbs, and with beauty replete;

And time on that pure brow had left no more trace,
 * Than if he had sped with her own fairy feet.

VOL. II.