Say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in thy heart, That still the dark brand is there, though chainless thou art; And Freedom's sweet fruit, for which thy spirit long burned, Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath turned?
Up Liberty's steep by Truth and Eloquence led, With eyes on her temple fixt, how proud was thy tread! Ah, better thou ne'er hadst lived that summit to gain Or died in the porch than thus dishonor the fane.
From this hour the pledge is given, From this hour my soul is thine: Come what will, from earth or heaven, Weal or woe, thy fate be mine. When the proud and great stood by thee, None dared thy rights to spurn; And if now they're false and fly thee, Shall I, too, basely turn? No;--whate'er the fires that try thee, In the same this heart shall burn.
Tho' the sea, where thou embarkest, Offers now no friendly shore, Light may come where all looks darkest, Hope hath life when life seems o'er. And, of those past ages dreaming, When glory decked thy brow, Oft I fondly think, tho' seeming So fallen and clouded now, Thou'lt again break forth, all beaming,-- None so bright, so blest as thou!
Silence is in our festal halls,-- Sweet Son of Song! thy course is o'er; In vain on thee sad Erin calls, Her minstrel's voice responds no more;-- All silent as the Eolian shell Sleeps at the close of some bright day, When the sweet breeze that waked its swell At sunny morn hath died away.
Yet at our feasts thy spirit long Awakened by music's spell shall rise; For, name so linked with deathless song Partakes its charm and never dies: And even within the holy fane When music wafts the soul to heaven, One thought to him whose earliest strain Was echoed there shall long be given.
But, where is now the cheerful day. The social night when by thy side He who now weaves this parting lay His skilless voice with thine allied; And sung those songs whose every tone, When bard and minstrel long have past, Shall still in sweetness all their own Embalmed by fame, undying last.
Yes, Erin, thine alone the fame,-- Or, if thy bard have shared the crown, From thee the borrowed glory came, And at thy feet is now laid down. Enough, if Freedom still inspire His latest song and still there be. As evening closes round his lyre, One ray upon its chords from thee.