Thomas Moore

28 May 1779 – 25 February 1852 / Dublin

Oh! Arranmore, Loved Arranmore

Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore,
How oft I dream of thee,
And of those days when, by thy shore,
I wander'd young and free.
Full many a path I've tried, since then,
Through pleasure's flowery maze,
But ne'er could find the bliss again
I felt in those sweet days.

How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs
At sunny morn I've stood,
With heart as bounding as the skiffs
That danced along thy flood;
Or, when the western wave grew bright
With daylight's parting wing,
Have sought that Eden in its light
Which dreaming poets sing;

That Eden where the immortal brave
Dwell in a land serene --
Whose bowers beyond the shining wave
At sunset, oft are seen.
Ah, dream too full of saddening truth!
Those mansions o'er the main
Are like the hopes I built in youth --
As sunny and as vain!
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