The Stream of the Liffy, in life's happy morning,
Ran pure as my heart, from its source to the sea,
And flowers of the Shamrock its green banks adorning,
Were sweeter by far than the myrtle to me.
To O'Brien I listened, and fondly believed him,
No doubt in my breast, and no cloud on my brow;
And ne'er in a word, or a thought have deceived him,
Unchanged in my love from that moment till now.
But long has delight from this bosom been parted,
Long withered the roses of life to my view;
Oh! sad was my fate, by O'Brien deserted,
No kiss on my lip, in my ear no adieu.