O Maria

Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy waters

Break not ye breezes, your chains of repose

While murmuring mournfully Lir's lonely daughter

Tells to the night star her tale of woes



When shall the swan, her death note ringing

Sleep with the wings in darkness furled?

When will heav'n, its sweet bell ringing

Call my spirit from this stormy world?



Sadly, oh Moyle, to thy winter wave weeping

Fate bids me languish long ages away

Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping

Still doth the pure light its dawning delay



When will the day star mildly springing

Warm our isle with peace and love?

When will heav'n, its sweet bell ringing

Call my spirit to the fields above?

Call my spirit to the fields above?