Page:Irish minstrelsy, vol 2 - Hardiman.djvu/85

Rh Mute are the minstrels that sang of him.
 * The harp forgets its thrilling tone;

The brightest eyes of the land are dim,
 * For the pride of their aching sight is gone!
 * Chorus—My heart—it danced, &c.

The sun refused to lend his light, And clouds obscured the face of day; The tiger's whelps prey'd day and night,$2$ For the lion of the forest was far away.
 * Chorus—My heart—it danced, &c.

The gallant—graceful—young Chevalier, Whose look is bonny as his heart is gay; His sword in battle flashes death and fear, While he hews through falling foes his way.
 * Chorus—My heart—it danced, &c.

O'er his blushing cheeks his blue eyes shine, Like dew drops glitt'ring on the rose's leaf; Mars and Cupid all in him combine, The blooming lover and the godlike chief.
 * Chorus—My heart—it danced, &c.