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Thomas Moore - The Dream of Those Days
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The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o`er 
Thy triumph hath stain`d the charm thy sorrows then wore; 
And even the light which Hope once shed o`er thy chains, 
Alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom remains. 

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 burn`d, 
Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath turn`d? 

Up Liberty`s steep by Truth and Eloquence led, 
With eyes on her temple fix`d, how proud was thy tread! 
Ah, better thou ne`er hadst lived that summit to gain, 
Denied in the porch, than thus dishonour the fane.
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