the star of slane

Mawaca

THE STAR OF SLANE

Ye brilliant muses who neââ?¬â?¢er refuses,
But still infuses the poetââ?¬â?¢s mind.
Your kind sweet favours to his endeavours
That his ardent labours appear sublime.
Preserve my study from growing muddy
My notionââ?¬â?¢s ready now inspire my brain.
My quill refine as I pan each line
On a nymph divine called the Star of Slane.

In beauteous Spring, when the warblers sing,
And their carols ring through each fragant grove;
Bright Sol did shine, which made me incline;
By the river Boyne for to go to rove,
I was ruminating and meditating
And contemplating as I paced the plain,
When a charming fair one beyond comparing,
Did my heart esnare near the town of Slane.

To praise her beauty then is my duty,
But alas! Iââ?¬â?¢m footy in this noble part,
And to my sorrow, sly Cupidââ?¬â?¢s arrow
Full deep did burrow in my tender heart;
In pain and trouble yet I will struggle,
Though sadly hobbled by my stupid brain,
Yet backed by Nature I can tell each feature
Of this lovely creature called the Star of Slane