Come O'er the Sea
Come O'er the Sea | |
Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 6
| Come o'er the sea, Maiden with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death were thou are not. Then come o'er the sea, Maiden with me, Come wherever the wild wind blows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. |
2. Was not the sea Made for the Free, Land for courts and chains alone? Here we are slaves, But, on the waves, Love and Liberty's all our own. No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us All earth forgot, and all heaven around us Then come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Mine through sunshine, storms, and snows Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. |