Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

          RICH and rare were the gems she wore,

          And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore;

          But oh! her beauty was far beyond

          Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand.

          "Lady! dost thou not fear to stray,

          So lone and lovely through this bleak way?

          Are Erin’s sons so good or so cold,

          As not to be tempted by woman or gold?"

          "Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,

          No son of Erin will offer me harm: —

          For though they love woman and golden store,

          Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more!"

          On she went, and her maiden smile

          In safety lighted her round the green isle;

          And blest for ever is she who relied

          Upon Erin’s honour and Erin’s pride.