Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Ireland: Vol. V. 1876–79.

Feal, the River

Desmond’s Song

By Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

BY the Feal’s wave benighted,

Not a star in the skies,

To thy door by Love lighted,

I first saw those eyes.

Some voice whispered o’er me,

As the threshold I crost,

There was ruin before me;

If I loved, I was lost.

Love came, and brought sorrow

Too soon in his train;

Yet so sweet that to-morrow

’T were welcome again.

Though misery’s full measure

My portion should be,

I would drain it with pleasure,

If poured out by thee.

You who call it dishonor

To bow to this flame,

If you ’ve eyes, look but on her,

And blush while you blame.

Hath the pearl less whiteness

Because of its birth?

Hath the violet less brightness

For growing near earth?

No,—man for his glory

To ancestry flies;

But woman’s bright story

Is told in her eyes.

While the monarch but traces

Through mortals his line,

Beauty, born of the Graces,

Ranks next to divine!