Far-Away

As chimes that flow o’er shining seas When Morn alights on meads of May, Faint voices fill the western breeze With whisp’ring songs from Far-Away. Oh, dear the dells of Dunamore, A home is odorous Ossory; But sweet as honey, running o’er, The Golden Shore of Far-Away! There grows the Tree whose summer breath Perfumes with joy the azure air; And he who feels it fears not Death, Nor longer heeds the hounds of Care. Oh, soft the skies of Seskinore, And mild is meadowy Mellaray; But sweet as honey, running o’er, The Golden Shore of Far-Away. There sings the Voice whose wondrous tune Falls, like diamond-showers above That in the radiant day of June Renew a world of Youth and Love. Oh, fair the founts of Farranfore, And bright is billowy Ballintrae; But sweet as honey, running o’er, The Golden Shore of Far-Away. Come, Fragrance of the Flowering Tree, Oh, sing, sweet Bird, thy magic lay, Till all the world be young with me, And Love shall lead us far away. Oh, dear the dells of Dunamore, A home is odorous Ossory; But sweet as honey, running o’er The Golden Shore of Far-Away.