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KATHLEEN BAN ADAIR, by                    
First Line: The battle blood of antrim had not dried on freedom's shroud
Last Line: Now in its wave she finds a grave, poor kathleen ban adair!


THE battle blood of Antrim had not dried on freedom's shroud,
And the rosy ray of morning was but struggling thro' the cloud;
When, with lightning foot and deathly cheek, and wildly waving hair,
O'er grass and dew, scarce breathing, flew young Kathleen ban Adair.

Behind, her native Antrim in a reeking ruin lies;
Before her, like a silvery path, Kell's sleeping waters rise;
And many a pointed shrub has pierc'd those feet so white and bare,
But, oh! thy heart is deeper rent, young Kathleen ban Adair.

And Kathleen's heart but one week since was like a harvest morn;
When hope and joy are kneeling round the sheaf of yellow corn;
But where's the bloom then made her cheek so ripe, so richly fair?
Thy stricken heart hath fed on it, young Kathleen ban Adair.

And now she gains a thicket, where the sloe and hazel rise;
But why those shrieking whispers, like a rush of worded sighs?
Ah, low and lonely bleeding lies a wounded patriot there,
And every pang of his is thine, young Kathleen ban Adair.

'I see them, oh! I see them, in their fearful red array;
The yeomen, love! the yeomen come -- ah! heavens away, away!
I know, I know they mean to track my lion to his lair;
Ah! save thy life -- ah! save it for thy Kathleen ban Adair!'

'May Heaven shield thee, Kathleen! -- when my soul has gone to rest;
May comfort rear her temple in thy pure and faithful breast;
But to fly them, oh! to fly them, like a bleeding, hunted hare;
No! not to purchase Heaven, with my Kathleen ban Adair.

'I loved, I love thee, Kathleen, in my bosom's warmest core --
And Erin, injured Erin, oh! I loved thee even more;
And death I feared him little when I drove him thro' their square,
Nor now, though eating at my heart, my Kathleen ban Adair.'

With feeble hand his blade he grasp'd yet dark with spoilers' blood;
And then, as though with dying bound, once more erect he stood;
But scarcely had he kiss'd that cheek, so pale, so purely fair,
When flash'd their bayonets round him and his Kathleen ban Adair!

Then up arose his trembling, yet his dreaded hero's hand,
And up arose, in struggling sounds, his cheer for mother land:
A thrust -- a rush -- their foremost falls; but ah! good God! see there,
Thy lover's quivering at thy feet, young Kathleen ban Adair!

But heavens! men, what recked he then your heartless taunts and blows,
When from his lacerated heart ten dripping bayonets rose?
And maiden, thou with frantic hands, what boots it kneeling there?
The winds heed not thy yellow locks, young Kathleen ban Adair.

Oh! what were tears, or shrieks, or swoons, but shadows of the rest,
When torn was frantic Kathleen from the slaughtered hero's breast?
And hardly had his last-heaved sigh grown cold upon the air,
When oh! of all but life they robb'd young Kathleen ban Adair!

But whither now shall Kathleen fly? -- already is she gone;
Thy water, Kells, is tempting fair, and thither speeds she on;
A moment on its blooming banks she kneels in hurried prayer --
Now in its wave she finds a grave, poor Kathleen ban Adair!





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