Thomas Moore

To Greece we give our shining blades.

To Greece we give our shining blades.

Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time,
Soon as read more

Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time,
Soon as the woods on shore dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn;
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the daylight's past.

Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.

Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.

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!

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.