A Bird From The West

At the grey dawn, amongst the felling leaves,             A little bird outside my window swung,      High on a topmost branch he trilled his song,             And Ireland! Ireland! Ireland! ever sung.      Take me, I cried, back to my island home;             Sweet bird, my soul shall ride between thy wings;      For my lone spirit wide his pinions spread,             And home and home and home he ever sings.      We lingered over Ulster stern and wild.             I called: Arise! doth none remember me?      One turnd in the darkness murmuring,             How loud upon the breakers sobs the sea!      We rested over Connaught-whispering said:             Awake, awake, and welcome!    I am here.      One woke and shivered at the morning grey;             The trees, I never heard them sigh so drear.      We flew low over Munster.    Long I wept:             You used to love me, love me once again!      They spoke from out the shadows wondering;             Youd think of tears, so bitter falls the rain.      Long over Leinster lingered we. Good-bye!             My best beloved, good-bye for evermore.      Sleepless they tossed and whispered to the dawn;             So sad a wind was never heard before.      Was it a dream I dreamt?    For yet there swings             In the grey morn a bird upon the bough,      And Ireland! Ireland! Ireland! ever sings.             Oh! fair the breaking day in Ireland now.