the stars shine out in the clear blue sky,
And the air is the breath of May,
O give me a Muse with a sweet mild eye,
And give her a harp to play.
Let us sit remote in a mountain scene,
On the shore of a lovely lake :
Let the moon look down on the small isles green,
And the waves that around them break.
Let the harp then tremble through all it's strings,
With it's tenderest fall and flow ;
Let it breathe such a spell as a bright dream brings,
When the mind is subdued with woe.
O, be thou the Muse ; for thine eye is mild ;
And thine be the harp, my bride !
For here are the mountains sublimely wild,
And here is Lough Corrib's side.
'Tis a lovely lake with it's hundred isles,
And thy harp has a tender tone ;
And 'tis fit that thou with thy harp and smiles,
Be the Muse of these regions lone !