  From the Irish My heart is far from Liffey's tide And Dublin town; It strays beyond the Southern side Of Cnoc-Maol-Donn, Where Capa-chuinn hath woodlands green, Where Amhan-Mhor's waters flow, Where dwell unsung, unsought, unseen Mo craoibhin cno, Low clustering in her leafy screen, Mo craoibhin cno! Are rich and fair, With wavy plume and silken gown, And stately air; Can plumes compare thy dark brown hair? Can silks thy neck of snow? Or measur'd pace thine artless grace? Mo craoibhin cno, When harebells scarcely show thy trace, Mo craoibhin cno! I've heard the songs by Liffey's wave That maidens sung— They sung their land the Saxon's slave, In Saxon tongue— O! bring me here that Gaelic dear Which cursed the Saxon foe, When thou didst charm my raptured ear, Mo craoibhin cno! And none but God's good angels near, Mo craoibhin cno! I've wandered by the rolling Lee! And Lene's green bowers— And Limerick's towers— And Liffey's tide, where halls of pride Frown o'er the flood below; My wild heart strays to Amhan-mhor's side, Mo craoibhin cno! With love and thee for aye to bide, Mo craoibhin cno! Edward Walsh |
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