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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 55 |
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And now, my son, it waits on you, the moment you
are born, The old hereditary badge of suffering and scorn !
Alas, my boy so beautiful!—alas, my love so brave ! And must your gallant Irish limbs still drag it to the
grave ? And you, my son, yet have a son, foredoomed a slave
to be, Whose mother still must weep o'er him the tears I
weep o'er thee! |
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