The Blackbird Of Sweet Avondale

By the sweet bay of Dublin, while carelessly strollingI sat myself down by a green myrtle shadeReclined on the beach, as the wild waves were rollingIn sorrowful condoling, I saw a fair maidHer robes changed to mourning, that once were so gloriousI stood in amazement to hear her sad wailHer heartstrings burst forth with wild accents uproariousSaying, "Where, where is my Blackbird of sweet Avondale?""In the fair counties Meath, Wexford, Cork, and Tipperary,The rights of Old Ireland, my Blackbird did singAh, but woe to the hour, with heart light and airyAway from my arms, to Dublin took wing""The fowlers waylaid him in hopes to ensnare himWhile I here in sorrow, his absence bewailOh, it grieves me to think that the walls of KilmainhamSurround my dear Blackbird of sweet Avondale""Oh, Ireland, my country, awake from your slumbersAnd give back my Blackbird, so dear unto meAnd let everyone know, by the strength of your numbersThat we, as a nation, would wish to be free""The cold prison dungeons is no habitationFor one, to his country, was loyal and trueThen give him his freedom, without hesitationAnd remember he fought hard for freedom and you""Oh, Heaven, give ear to my consultationAnd strengthen the bold sons of Old GranuaileAnd God grant that my country will soon be a nationAnd bring back the Blackbird to sweet Avondale"