The muses are gone with their favourite bard
To fields of illusion their toil to reward
To lofty old empress the trumpet of fame
To far distant nations their voices proclaim
While echos remurmur round Erin's green shore
And whispers in silence "Dear Ryan is no more"
The fair winding Tonnet of whose beauty he told
Alas our fond poet shall we never behold
The "famous Delour" - his favourite song
In heedless murmurs may wander along
And tell when it meets with the slow moving Nore
The bard of our bowers "Dear Ryan is no more"
Adieu thou fond poet, forever adieu
No longer I'm able my time to pursue
So he laid down his pen with a heart troubled sore
May the heavens be with you
"Dear Ryan is no more".