Thomas Moore

Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave
Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the read more

Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave
Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the councils of the brave,
And blasts them in their hour of might!

To live with them is far less sweet,
Than to remember thee!

To live with them is far less sweet,
Than to remember thee!

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

Then should some cloud pass over
The brow of sire or lover,
Think 'tis the shade
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Then should some cloud pass over
The brow of sire or lover,
Think 'tis the shade
By Victory made
Whose wings right o'er us hover!

Bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

Bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.