Love's a fire that needs renewal Of fresh beauty for its fuel.
Whose lines are mottoes of the heart,Whose truths electrify the sage.
One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.
The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I, No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.
But sad as angels for the good man's sin, Weep to record, and blush to give it in.