Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid:
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
More verses by Thomas Moore
- Let Erin Remember The Days Of Old
- As Vanquish'D Erin
- Farewell! -- But Whenever You Welcome The Hour
- While Gazing On The Moon's Light
- Oh, The Shamrock