the moorings - though the last glimpse of erin lyrics
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though the last glimpse of erin with sorrow i see
yet wherever thou art shall seem erin to me:
in exile thy bosom shall still be my home
and thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam
to the gloom of some desert, or cold rocky sh-r-
where the eye of the stranger can hunt us no more
i will fly with my coulin, and think the rough wind
less rude than the foe we leave frowning behind
and i’ll gaze on thy gold hair, as graceful it wreathes
and hang o’er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes;
nor dread that the cold-hearted saxon will tear
one chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair
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