WALSINGHAM, BERMUDA
The sun shines bright on Walsingham,
As in the days of yore,
When through the tangled woodland paths
Echoed thy steps, Tom Moore.
The swift gulls sail on snowy wings,
The song-birds trill their lays,
And flowers the air with perfume fill
As in those bygone days.
As in the days of yore,
When through the tangled woodland paths
Echoed thy steps, Tom Moore.
The swift gulls sail on snowy wings,
The song-birds trill their lays,
And flowers the air with perfume fill
As in those bygone days.
Thy memories haunt the forest shades,
Thy voice rings on the breeze,
We linger where thou oft hast stayed.
Thy steps beneath the trees.
The hours hold thoughts too deep for words,
The heart alone can tell
How sweet the magic thrall we own
Through Fancy's wondrous spell.
Thy voice rings on the breeze,
We linger where thou oft hast stayed.
Thy steps beneath the trees.
The hours hold thoughts too deep for words,
The heart alone can tell
How sweet the magic thrall we own
Through Fancy's wondrous spell.
The lonely rooms of Walsingham
Tell silent tales of thee,
Echoes that float adown the waves.
Of Time's unending sea.
Thy songs come whispering to our hearts
With sweet and rapturous spell,
And something 'kin to tender grief
Breathes as we say "Farewell!"
Tell silent tales of thee,
Echoes that float adown the waves.
Of Time's unending sea.
Thy songs come whispering to our hearts
With sweet and rapturous spell,
And something 'kin to tender grief
Breathes as we say "Farewell!"
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