Page:Forget Me Not (1828).djvu/26

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6
ERIN MA VOURNEEN.
The snow! the snow! It brings to mind
A thousand happy things,
And but one sad one—'tis to find
Too sure that Time hath wings!
Oh! ever sweet is sight or sound
That tells of long ago;
And I gaze around, with thoughts profound,
Upon the falling snow.
Δ.

ERIN MA VOURNEEN.

BY THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.

When the pure soul of honour shall cease to inspire thee,
And kind hospitality leave thy gay shore,
And the nations that know thee shall cease to admire thee,
Then, Erin ma vourneen! I'll love thee no more!

When the trumpet of Fame shall cease to proclaim thee
Of heroes the nurse, as in ages of yore;
And the muse and the records of genius disclaim thee,
Then, Erin ma vourneen! I'll love thee no more!

When thy brave sons shall cease to be generous and witty,
And cease to be loved by the fair they adore,
And thy daughters shall cease to be virtuous and pretty,
Then, Erin ma vourneen! I'll love thee no more!

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