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The Song Book |
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cxcvni O BANQUET NOT |
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There, while the myrtle's withering boughs
Their lifeless leaves around us shed, We'll brim the bowl to broken vows,
To friends long lost, the changed, the dead! Or, as some blighted laurel waves
Its branches o'er the dreary spot, We'll drink to those neglected graves
Where Valour sleeps, unnamed, forgot.
Words by Moore. Tune (from Bunting) Planxty Irzvin. |
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