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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Irish Maiden’s Song

By John (1798–1842) and Michael (1796–1874) Banim

YOU know it now—it is betrayed

This moment in mine eye,

And in my young cheeks’ crimson shade,

And in my whispered sigh.

You know it now—yet listen now—

Though ne’er was love more true,

My plight and troth and virgin vow

Still, still I keep from you,


Ever, until a proof you give

How oft you’ve heard me say,

I would not even his empress live

Who idles life away,

Without one effort for the land

In which my fathers’ graves

Were hollowed by a despot hand

To darkly close on slaves—


See! round yourself the shackles hang,

Yet come you to love’s bowers,

That only he may soothe their pang

Or hide their links in flowers—

But try all things to snap them first,

And should all fail when tried,

The fated chain you cannot burst

My twining arms shall hide—