Томас Осборн Дэвис (Thomas Osborne Davis)

The Lost Path

AIR--Grádh mo chroidhe.

I.

Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be,
  All comfort else has flown;
For every hope was false to me,
  And here I am, alone.
What thoughts were mine in early youth!
  Like some old Irish song,
Brimful of love, and life, and truth,
  My spirit gushed along.

II.

I hoped to right my native isle,
  I hoped a soldier's fame,
I hoped to rest in woman's smile
  And win a minstrel's name--
Oh! little have I served my land,
  No laurels press my brow,
I have no woman's heart or hand,
  Nor minstrel honours now.

III.

But fancy has a magic power,
  It brings me wreath and crown,
And woman's love, the self-same hour
  It smites oppression down.
Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be,
  I have no joy beside;
Oh! throng around, and be to me
  Power, country, fame, and bride.

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