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Thomas Moore - The Song of Fionnuala
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Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water, 
   Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, 
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir`s lonely daughter 
   Tell`s 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 heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 
   Call my spirit from this stormy world? 

Sadly, oh 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 heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 
   Call my spirit to the fields above?
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