Air--Gr'Dh Mo Chroidhe. I. Sweet Thoughts, Bright Dreams, My Comfort Be, All Comfort Else Has Flown; For Every Hope Was False To Me, And Here I Am, Alone. What Thoughts Were Mine In Early Youth! Like Some Old Irish Song, Brimful Of Love, And Life, And Truth, My Spirit Gushed Along. Ii. I Hoped To Right My Native Isle, I Hoped A Soldier'S Fame, I Hoped To Rest In Woman'S Smile And Win A Minstrel'S Name-- Oh! Little Have I Served My Land, No Laurels Press My Brow, I Have No Woman'S Heart Or Hand, Nor Minstrel Honours Now. Iii. But Fancy Has A Magic Power, It Brings Me Wreath And Crown, And Woman'S Love, The Self-Same Hour It Smites Oppression Down. Sweet Thoughts, Bright Dreams, My Comfort Be, I Have No Joy Beside; Oh! Throng Around, And Be To Me Power, Country, Fame, And Bride.