  O my dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep! The priests are on the ocean green, They march along the deep. There's wine from the royal Pope Upon the ocean green; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope, My Dark Rosaleen! Over hills and thro' dales, Have I roamed for your sake; All yesterday I sailed with sails On river and on lake. The Erne at its highest flood I dashed across unseen, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! O there was lightning in my blood, Red lightning lightened thro' my blood, My Dark Rosaleen! All day long, in unrest, To and fro, do I move. The very soul within my breast Is wasted for you, love! The heart in my bosom faints To think of you, my queen, My life of life, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! To hear your sweet and sad complaints, My life, my love, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen! Woe and pain, pain and woe, Are my lot, night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so, Like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne Again in golden sheen; 'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! 'Tis you shall have the golden throne, 'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen! Will I fly for your weal: Your holy delicate white hands Shall girdle me with steel. At home in your emerald bowers, From morning's dawn till e'en, You'll pray for me, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! You'll think of me thro' daylight hours, My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen! I could scale the blue air, I could plough the high hills, O I could kneel all night in prayer, To heal your many ills! And one beamy smile from you Would float like light between My toils and me, my own, my true, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew, A second life, a soul anew, My Dark Rosaleen! O the Erne shall run red With redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread, And flames wrap hill and wood, And gun-peal and slogan-cry Wake many a glen serene, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! The Judgment Hour must first be nigh, Ere you can fade, ere you can die, My Dark Rosaleen! James Clarence Mangan. |
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