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IRISH MELODIES. |
87 |
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No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs, But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons — Whose hearts, like the young of the desert bird's nest, Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast |
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WREATH THE BOWL.
Wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul, The brightest Wit can find us;
We '11 take a flight
Tow'rds heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us.
Should Love amid
The wreaths be hid, That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us,
No danger fear,
While wine is near, We '11 drown him if he stings us.
Then, wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul, The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight
Tow'rds heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us. o 4 |
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