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FLOWER OF LOVE LIES BLEEDING.
Oh once the harp of Innisfail
Sad was the note, and wild its fall, As winds that moan at night forlorn Along the isles of Fion-Gall, When, for O'Connor's child to mourn, The harper told, how lone, how far From any mansion's twinkling star, From any path of social men, Or voice, but from the fox's den, The Lady in the desert dwelt; And yet no wrongs, no fear she felt: Say, why should dwell in place so wild, The lovely pale O'Connor's child?
Sweet lady! she no more inspires
As in the palace of her sires She bloom'd a peerless flow'r. Gone from her hand and bosom, gone, The royal broche, the jewell'd ring, . That o'er her dazzling whiteness shone Like dews on lilies of the spring. Yet why, though fall’n her brother's kerne,? Beneath De Bourgo's battle stern,' While yet in Leinster unexplor'd, Her friends survive the English sword; Why lingers she from Erin's host, So far on Galway's shipwreck'd coast; Why wanders she a huntress wildThe lovely pale O'Connor's child?,
7. Kerne, the ancient Irish foat soldiery..