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Poem	How oft has the Benshee cried, How oft has death untied Bright links that Glory wove, Sweet bonds entwined by Love. Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth; Long may the fair and brave, Sigh o'er the hero's grave. We're fallen upon gloomy days! Star after star decays. Every bright name, that shed Light o'er the land, is fled. Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth: But brightly flows the tear, Wept o'er a hero's bier. Quench'd are our beacon lights -- Thou, of the Hundred Fights! Thou, on whose burning tongue Truth, peace, and freedom hung! Both mute, -- but long as valour shineth, Or mercy's soul at war repineth, So long shall Erin's pride Tell how they lived and died.
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