Silent O Moyle

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? 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?