The leafy Cool-kellure

Just between the day and dark,

O'er the green of the glimmering Park,

Lost in heaven one lonely lark

Soared and poured his passion pure;

Till the long, sweet shivering strain

Took, methought, this meaning plain,

As it showered like silver rain

Softly into the Cool-kellure.

How we prayed and prayed of old,

Blackbird, with the crown of gold,

That you'd cross the waters cold

Erin's sorrows at last to cure.

But you sought and sought in vain

Succour out of France and Spain,

None would help you here to reign,

Blackbird, over the Cool-kellure.

Yet the Blackbird far above

Now I rank the Royal Dove

Who, at last for Erin's love

Wreathing with shamrock her bosom pure,

O'er the dreadful flood's decrease

Flutters with its spray of peace

To her bow'r of Queenly ease

Nesting under the Cool-kellure.