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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 169 |
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THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MIS TRESS
THROUGH grief and through danger thy smile hath cheered my way Till hope seemed to bud from each thorn that round me lay; The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love
burned, Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turned; O slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, And blessed even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee.
Thy rival was honored, while thou wert wronged and
scorned, Thy crown was of briars, while gold her brows
adorned ; She wooed me to temples, whilst thou lay'st hid in
caves, Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas ! were
slaves; Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet I would rather be Than wed what I loved not, or turn one thought from
thee.
They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail — Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had looked
less pale! They say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering
chains, That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile
stains — O do not believe them—no chain could that soul
subdue. Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too! |
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