A Bird from the West

At the grey dawn, amongst the falling leaves,
zV A little bird outside my window swung,
High on a topmost branch he trill'd his song,
And 'Ireland! Ireland! Ireland! 'ever sung.

'Take me,' I cried, 'back to my island home;
Sweet bird, my soul shall ride between thy wings';
For my lone spirit wide his pinions spread,
And home and home and home he ever sings.

We linger'd over Ulster stern and wild.
I call'd: 'Arise! doth none remember me f'
One turned in the darkness murmuring,
'How loud upon the breakers sobs the sea!'

We rested over Connaught — whispering said:
'Awake, awake, and welcome! I am here.'
One woke and shiver'd at the morning grey;
'The trees, I never heard them sigh so drear.'

We flew low over Munster. Long I wept:
'You used to love me, love me once again!'
They spoke from out the shadows wondering;
'You'd think of tears, so bitter falls the rain.'

Long over Leinster linger'd we. 'Good-bye!
My best beloved, good-bye for evermore.'
Sleepless they toss'd and whisper'd to the dawn;
'So sad a wind was never heard before.'

Was it a dream I dreamt? For yet there swings
In the grey morn a bird upon the bough,
And 'Ireland! Ireland! Ireland! 'ever sings.
O, fair the breaking day in Ireland now!