Classic Poem

Hail, dear companions of my youthful days!
Frequented hills and natal vallies, hail!
Peace rest around—while I incessant raise
My plaintive voice, and woes unweary'd wail.

Peace rest around!—the only boon I crave,
Is, undisturb'd, by yonder stream to stray;
To muse unnoted in the cool of eve,
Unnoted court the dawning of the day.

Why would you ask a melancholy man,
To number ills th' unhappy only prove?
The dismal tale would turn the wanton wan,
Infectious sorrow seize the group of love.

No, in my bosom let them ever rest;
A bosom that rejoices in the smart:
I grasp the dear destroyer to my breast,
And feed the passion which must break my heart.

Yes, M IRA ! yes, I hug thy faithless form:
See happy days; days never meant for me!
Yet still I feel the rising raging storm,
'Tis transport, joy, and death, to think on thee,

Death! let thy deep-dy'd purple garment slow,
The bloody sabre threaten in thy hand;
I fear thee not, array'd in weeds of woe;
Of woe, awak'd by M IRA 's own command.