Page:Irish minstrelsy, vol 2 - Hardiman.djvu/99

 Rh

Blithe the bright dawn found me. Rest with strength had crown'd me. Sweet the birds sung round me,
 * Sport was all their toil.

The horn its clang was keeping, Forth the fox was creeping, Round each dame stood weeping,
 * O'er that prowler's spoil.

Hark, the foe is calling, Fast the woods are falling. Scenes and sights appalling
 * Mark the wasted soil.