The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o'er <br />Thy triumph hath stain'd the charm thy sorrows then wore; <br />And even the light which Hope once shed o'er thy chains, <br />Alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom remains. <br /> <br />Say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in thy heart, <br />That still the dark brand is there, though chainless thou art; <br />And Freedom's sweet fruit, for which thy spirit long burn'd, <br />Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath turn'd? <br /> <br />Up Liberty's steep by Truth and Eloquence led, <br />With eyes on her temple fix'd, how proud was thy tread! <br />Ah, better thou ne'er hadst lived that summit to gain, <br />Denied in the porch, than thus dishonour the fane.<br /><br />Thomas Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dream-of-those-days/
