[From Mylechairane,1859]

Floreat Mona !


I laid down the Fairy Harp silent, in slumber,
And thought that no hand would awake it again;
But now, o'er the ocean, I hear its chords thrilling,
With the magical numbers of Mylecharane!

Clear and firm is the touch that now rules the strings,
No wail of the Sea-maid-no faint Elfin strain,
But a true song of Mona, for glen, rock, and valley
Have for ages re-echoed wild Myleeharane.

Sing on-for the song shall be ever immortal,
When the heart of a people responds to the strain,
And save other lays, now but fading traditions,
Yet dear to the Isle-folk as Mylecharane !


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