Poem by Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 83. Forget Not the Field

Forget not the field where they perished,
  	The truest, the last of the brave,
All gone – and the bright hope we cherished
  	Gone with them, and quenched in their grave!

Oh! could we from death but recover
  	Those hearts as they bounded before,
In the face of high heaven to fight over
  	That combat for freedom once more;–

Could the chain for an instant be riven
  	Which Tyranny flung round us then,
No, ’tis not in Man, nor in Heaven,
  	To let Tyranny bind it again!

But ’tis past – and, tho’ blazoned in story
  	The name of our Victor may be,
Accurst is the march of that glory
  	Which treads o’er the hearts of the free.

Far dearer the grave or the prison,
  	Illumed by one patriot name,
Than the trophies of all, who have risen
  	On Liberty’s ruins to fame.

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 52
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 38
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 54
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 17
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 56

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