Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

          OH! weep for the hour,

          When to Eveleen’s bower,

The Lord of the Valley with false vows came;

          The moon hid her light,

          From the heavens that night,

And wept behind her clouds o’er the maiden’s shame.

          The clouds pass’d soon

          From the chaste cold moon,

And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame;

          But none will see the day,

          When the clouds shall pass away,

Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen’s fame.

          The white snow lay

          On the narrow path-way,

When the Lord of the Valley cross’d over the moor;

          And many a deep print

          On the white snow’s tint

Show’d the track of his footstep to Eveleen’s door.

          The next sun’s ray

          Soon melted away

Every trace on the path where the false Lord came;

          But there’s a light above,

          Which alone can remove

That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen’s fame.