Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 97. Oh, the Sight Entrancing

Oh, the sight entrancing,
When morning’s beam is glancing,
    	O’er files arrayed
    	With helm and blade,
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing!

When hearts are all high beating,
And the trumpet’s voice repeating
    	That song, whose breath
    	May lead to death,
But never to retreating.

Oh the sight entrancing,
When morning’s beam is glancing
  	O’er files arrayed
  	With helm and blade,
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing.

Yet, ’tis not helm or feather –
For ask yon despot, whether
  	His plumed bands
  	Could bring such hands
And hearts as ours together.

Leave pomps to those who need ’em –
Give man but heart and freedom,
  	And proud he braves
  	The gaudiest slaves
That crawl where monarchs lead ’em.

The sword may pierce the beaver,
Stone walls in time may sever,
  	’Tis mind alone,
  	Worth steel and stone,
That keeps men free for ever.

Oh that sight entrancing,
When the morning’s beam is glancing,
  	O’er files arrayed
  	With helm and blade,
And in Freedom’s cause advancing!