I heard a song,

Sad listless notes on the docks

Spoke to my heart,

Like when Mother sang her song of gold

In our exile

So we’d remember green fields of old

Remember we used to live

In golden mist beyond the edge of the world.

 

And the song went…

 

“Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water,
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose,
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter
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?”

 

There was a swan of white,

Gliding by the docks

A lonely heart,

Betrayed and cursed to wander at sea

Oceans apart from home

Estranged and melancholy

I heard the song, saw the swan

Thinking back on a land of myth and charms

 

And the song went…

 

“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 heav'n, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above?”