(Thomas Moore)

From Irish Melodies. 92. ODonohues Mistress

OF all the fair months, that round the sun
In light-linkd dance their circles run,
      Sweet May, shine thou for me;
For still, when thy earliest beams arise,
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies,
      Sweet May, returns to me.

Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves
Its lingering smile on golden eves,
      Fair lake, thourt dearest to me;
For when the last April sun grows dim
Thy Naiads prepare his steed for him
      Who dwells, bright lake, in thee.

Of all the proud steeds that ever bore
Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore,
      White Steed, most joy to thee;
Who still, with the first young glance of spring,
From under that glorious lake dost bring
      My love, my chief, to me.

While, white as the sail some bark unfurls,
When newly launchd, thy long mane curls,
      Fair Steed, as white and free;
And spirits, from all the lakes deep bowers,
Glide oer the blue wave scattering flowers,
      Around my love and thee.

Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die,
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie,
      Most sweet that death will be,
Which, under the next May evenings light,
When thou and thy steed are lost to sight,
      Dear love, Ill die for thee.

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