She Is Far from the Land - The Moorings

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps

And lovers are round her sighing

But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps

For her heart in his grave is lying!

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains

Every note which he lov’d awaking --

Ah!

little they think, who delight in her strains

How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking!

He had liv’d for his love, for his country he died

They were all that to life had entwin’d him, --

Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried

Nor long will his love stay behind him!

Oh!

make her a grave, where the sunbeams rest

When they promise a glorious morrow;

They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the west

From her own lov’d island of sorrow!