AWAKE, my harp, the cheerful strain !
Shall I, the first of Erin's warrior band,
In wasting sorrow still complain ?
The first to dare stern danger's bloody field,
Shall I to silly, changeful woman yield?
No—raise, my harp, the cheerful strain,
What is a rosy cheek, or lily hand !
Since thus she scorns, I'll scorn again.
[Semple 163]