Luyện nghe bài hát The Exile Of Erin / Air: I Mo Sheasamh Ar An Tra (As I Stand On The Beach)

THERE to the beach a poor exile of Erin.
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and
For his country he sighed, when at reparing.
To alone by the wind-beaten hill.
But the day-star attracted his sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own isle of the ocean,
When once in the fire of his emotion,
He the loud anthem of Erin-go-Bragh.

"Sad is my fate!" said the stranger :
The wild-deer and wolf to a can flee.
But I no refuge from famine and danger-
A home and a remain not to me.
Never again, in the sunny bowers,
Where my forefathers lived, I spend the sweet hours,
Or cover my harp the wild-women flower,
And to the numbers of Erin-go-Bragh.

"Erin, my country ! sad and forsaken,
In dreams I thy sea beaten shore:
But alas ! in a far foreign I awaken,
And sigh for the who can meet me no more
O! cruel fate ! wilt never replace me
In a mansion of where no perils can chase me?
Never shall my brothers embrace me.
They died to defend me, or to deplore.

"Where is my door, fast by the wild wood?
Sisters and sire, did you for its fall?
Where is the that looked on my childhood?
And is the bosom friend dearer than all?
O! my sad heart! abandoned by pleasure,
Why did it on fast-fading treasure?
Tears, the rain-drops, may fall with-out measure,
But and beauty they cannot recall.

"Yet all its sad suppressing,
One dying wish my bosom can draw
Erin! an exile bequeaths his blessing!
of my forefathers. Erin-go-Bragh!
Buried and cold, when my stills its motion,
be thy fields, sweetest Isle of the ocean!
And thy bards sing aloud with devotion,
Mavourneen! Erin-go-Bragh."