As the speaker takes a last look at Erin, sorrow fills him, but he immediately turns to a beloved companion and promises that wherever she is will feel like home. Exile becomes bearable because her eyes set the climate, her bosom is his true country. It’s a love poem that transforms political loss into an intimate, portable shelter. The second stanza imagines a flight to some bleak desert or rocky shore, far from the stranger’s gaze — likely the “cold-hearted Saxon” oppressors. Even a rough wind seems kinder than the foes they’ve left frowning behind. The final verse grows defiant and tender: he’ll gaze on her golden hair and listen to her soft harp, unafraid that anyone will tear away a single chord or lock. The mood hovers between aching farewell and quiet rebellion, mixing sorrow with the steady warmth of devotion.
Though the Last Glimpse of Erin With Sorrow I See — Summary
Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.
To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore, Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more, I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind.
And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes, And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes; Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.