Silent, O Moyle

(The Song of Fionnala)

Fionnala, the daughter of Lir, was enchanted and changed to a swan, and made to wander through the rivers and lakes of Ireland, until her release through Christianity.

SILENT, O Moyle! be the roar of thy water,

Break not, ye breezes! your chain of repose, While murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daugh

ter

Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.

When shall the Swan, her death-note singing,

Sleep with wings in darkness furl'd?

When will Heav'n, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit from this stormy world?

Silent, O Moyle! to thy winter wave weeping,
Fate bids me languish long ages away;
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay!

When will that day-star, mildly springing,
Warm our Isle with peace and love?
When will Heav'n, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above?

Thomas Moore.

The Bells of Shandon

(Cork. St. Anne's Church)

Sabbata pango;

Funera plango;

Solemnia clango.

Inscription in an old bell.

WITH deep affection

And recollection

I often think of

Those Shandon bells,
Whose sounds so wild would,
In the days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle
Their mystic spells.

On this I ponder
Where'er I wander,

And thus grow fonder,

Sweet Cork, of thee,

With thy bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

I've heard bells chiming
Full many a clime in,
Toiling sublime in

Cathedral shrine,

While at a glib rate

Brass tongue would vibrate;

But all their music

Spoke naught like thine.

For memory, dwelling
On each proud swelling
Of thy belfry, knelling
Its bold notes free,

Made the bells of Shandon,
Sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters
Of the river Lee.

I've heard bells tolling
Old Adrian's Mole in
Their thunder rolling
From the Vatican, -
And cymbals glorious
Swinging uproarious
In the gorgeous turrets
Of Notre Dame;

But thy sounds were sweeter
Than the dome of Peter

Flings o'er the Tiber,

Pealing solemnly.

Oh! the bells of Shandon,
Sound far more grand on

The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

There's a bell in Moscow;
While on tower and kiosk O

In St. Sophia

The Turkman gets,

'Tis the bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

Father Prout (Francis Mahony).

Sweet Innisfallen

(Innisfallen. Lakes of Killarney)

WEET Innisfallen, fare thee well,

SWEE

May calm and sunshine long be thine!

How fair thou art let others tell,

To feel how fair shall long be mine.

Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell
In memory's dream that sunny smile,
Which o'er thee on that evening fell,
When first I saw thy fairy isle.