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IRISH MELODIES. |
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Himself has fix'd his dwelling
In eyes we know, in eyes we know, And lips — but this is telling —
So here they go! so here they go! Fill up, fill up — where'er, boy,
Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy,
So drink them all! so drink them all! |
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FORGET NOT THE FIELD.
Forget not the field where they perish'd,
The truest, the last of the brave, All gone — and the bright hope we cherish'd
Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave!
Oh ! could we from death but recover Those hearts as they bounded before,
In the face of high heav'n to fight over That combat for freedom once more; —
Could the chain for an instant be riven Which tyranny flung round us then,
No! 'tis not in Man, nor in Heaven, To let Tyranny bind it again !
But 'tis past — and tho' blazon'd in story
The name of our Victor may be, Accurst is the march of that glory
Which treads o'er the hearts of the free. |
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