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 robe was heavy and chill;
For his he sighed, when at twilight reparing.
To alone by the wind-beaten hill.
But the attracted his eyes' sad devotion,
For it rose his own native isle of the ocean,
When in the fire of his youthful emotion,
He sang the loud of Erin-go-Bragh.

"Sad is my fate!" said the stranger :
The and wolf to a convert can flee.
But I have no refuge from famine and
A and a country remain not to me.
again, in the green sunny bowers,
Where my lived, shall I spend the sweet hours,
Or cover my with the wild-women flower,
And to the numbers of Erin-go-Bragh.

"Erin, my country ! sad and forsaken,
In I revisit thy sea beaten shore:
But alas ! in a far land I awaken,
And sigh for the friends who can meet me no
O! cruel ! wilt thou never replace me
In a mansion of peace where no perils can me?
again shall my brothers embrace me.
They died to me, or live to deplore.

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

"Yet all its sad suppressing,
One dying wish my bosom can draw
Erin! an exile thee 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."