Thomas Moore

But the trail of the serpent is over them all.

But the trail of the serpent is over them all.

Oh, colder than the wind that freezes
Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd,
Is that congealing read more

Oh, colder than the wind that freezes
Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd,
Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom, when betray'd.

Where bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

Where bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

Good-bye--my paper's out so nearly,
I've only room for, Yours sincerely.

Good-bye--my paper's out so nearly,
I've only room for, Yours sincerely.

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells!

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells!