198
THE IRISH GIRL.
The past is like a mighty harp
All silent and unstrung,
Whose sleeping strings no voice of love
Or agony hath rung,
But draw the wires, and o'er the chords
Let memory's fingers fly,
And all affection's countless throngs
Come up before the eye.
All silent and unstrung,
Whose sleeping strings no voice of love
Or agony hath rung,
But draw the wires, and o'er the chords
Let memory's fingers fly,
And all affection's countless throngs
Come up before the eye.
Look round on this green land of ours,
And say, hast thou not known
On its broad breast, a spot of earth
As lovely as thine own?
Not one, whose wondrous beauty can
With Brill's pride compare,
Where bright Killarney folds her arms,
Round Innisfallen fair?
And say, hast thou not known
On its broad breast, a spot of earth
As lovely as thine own?
Not one, whose wondrous beauty can
With Brill's pride compare,
Where bright Killarney folds her arms,
Round Innisfallen fair?
"Mavourneen!" still the moan I hear
Of yearning and regret;
Howe'er the tides of life may turn
She never can forget.
Around the fair and emerald isle
Her young affections cling,
Made stronger with the lapse of years,
Yet green as in their spring.
Of yearning and regret;
Howe'er the tides of life may turn
She never can forget.
Around the fair and emerald isle
Her young affections cling,
Made stronger with the lapse of years,
Yet green as in their spring.
