Brosna's banks


Yes, yes, I idled many an hour
Oh, would that I could idle now
In wooing back the withered flower
Of health into my wasted brow
But from my life’s o’er shadowing close
My unimpassioned spirit ranks
Among its happiest moments, those
I idled on the Brosna’s Banks

For there upon my boyhood broke
The dreamy voice of nature first
And every word the vision spoke
How deeply has my spirit nursed
A woman’s love, a lyre, or pen
A rescued land, a nation’s thanks
A friendship with the world, and then
A grave upon the Brosna’s Banks

For these I sued, and sought, and strove
But now my youthful days are gone
In vain, in vain, for woman’s love
Is still a blessing to be won
And still my country’s cheek is wet
The still-unbroken fetter clanks
And I may not forsake her yet
To die upon the Brosna’s Banks

Yet idle as those visions seem
They were a strange and faithful guide
When heaven itself had scarce a gleam
To light my darkened life beside
And if from grosser guilt escaped
I feel no dying dread, the thanks
Are due unto the Power that shaped
My visions on the Brosna’s Banks

And love, I feel, will come at last
Albeit too late to comfort me
And fetters from the land be cast
Though I may not survive to see
If then the gifted, good, and brave
Admit me to their glorious ranks
My memory may, tho’ not my grave
Be green upon the Brosna’s Banks


Written by Jean De Jean Frazer (1809 – 1852)

Song Clip