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IRISH MELODIES. |
109 |
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O'er files array'd With helm and blade, And plumes in the gay wind dancing.
Yet, 'tis not helm or feather — For ask yon despot, whether
His plumed bauds
Could bring such hands And hearts as ours together. Leave pomps to those who need ''em — Give man but heart and freedom,
And proud he braves
The gaudiest slaves That crawl where monarchs lead 'em. The sword may pierce the beaver, Stone walls in time may sever,
'Tis mind alone,
Worth steel and stone, That keeps men free for ever. Oh that sight entrancing, When the morning's beam is glancing
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade, And in Freedom's cause advancing! |
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