Poem by Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 44. She Is Far From the Land

SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
      And lovers are round her, sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
      For her heart in his grave is lying.

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
      Every note which he loved awaking; —
Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
      How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.

He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
      They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
      Nor long will his Love stay behind him.

Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
      When they promise a glorious morrow;
They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
      From her own loved island of sorrow.

1. From “Irish Melodies”. 47. What the Bee Is to the Floweret
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 32
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 16
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 3. Erin! The Tear and the Smile in Thine Eyes
5. From “Irish Melodies”. 123. From This Hour the Pledge Is Given

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