Page:Irish minstrelsy, vol 2 - Hardiman.djvu/31

Rh Whatever of purity, glory, bath ever
 * Been linked with the name, lovely Mary was thine;

Woe! woe, that the tomb, ruthless tyrant, should sever,
 * The ties which our spirits half broken resign.

Than Cæsar of hosts$3$—the true darling of Rome,
 * Far prouder was James—where pure spirits are met;

The virgin, the saint—though heaven's radiance illume
 * Their brows—Erin's wrongs can o'ershadow them yet.

And rank be the poison—the plagues that distil,
 * Through the heart of the spoiler that laid them in dust;

The rapt bard with their glory the nations shall fill.
 * With the fame of his patrons, the generous, the just.

Wherever the beam of the morning is shed.
 * With its light the full fame of our loved ones hath shone;

The deep curse of our sorrow shall burst on his head
 * That hath hurled them—the pride of our hearts! from
 * their throne—