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First Line: His war-horse beats a distant bourne
Last Line: It weeps, and so must thou!
Subject(s): Smerwick, Ireland


HIS war-horse beats a distant bourne
Till comes the glad new year;
Therefore thy wheel in silence turn,
And only dream him near.
He fights where native monarchs be,
Where Moors no longer reign:
He strikes and cries, "My land, for thee!"
Amid delivered Spain.

O maiden of the moon-plae face
And darkly lucid eye!
For knights wave-washed round Smerwick's base
Fair Spanish maidens sigh!
The moss, till comes the glad new year,
Alone may clothe the bough;
Alone the raindrop deck the breer, --
It weeps, and so must thou!




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