Oh, where's the slave so lowly, <br />Condemn'd to chains unholy, <br />Who, could he burst <br />His bonds at first, <br />Would pine beneath them slowly? <br />What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, <br />Would wait till time decay'd it, <br />When thus its wing <br />At once may spring <br />To the throne of Him who made it? <br /> <br />Farewell, Erin, -- farewell, all, <br />Who live to weep our fall! <br /> <br />Less dear the laurel growing, <br />Alive, untouch'd and blowing, <br />Than that whose braid <br />Is pluckd to shade <br />The brows with victory glowing. <br />We tread the land that bore us, <br />Her green flag glitters o'er us, <br />The friends we've tried <br />Are by our side, <br />And the foe we hate before us. <br /> <br />Farewell, Erin, -- farewell, all, <br />Who live to weep our fall!<br /><br />Thomas Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-is-the-slave/
