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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 515 |
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Stern duty rose, and frowning flung
His leaden chain around me; With iron look and sullen tongue
He muttered as he bound me: "The mountain breeze, the boundless heaven,
Unfit for toil the creature; These for the free alone are given;
And what have slaves with Nature?" |
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THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE
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OT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
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We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light.
And the lantern dimly burning.
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No useless coffin inclosed his breast,
Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him,
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. |
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