American Old Time Song Lyrics: 11 The Irish Stranger

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 11

THE IRISH STRANGER.

Oh, pity the fate of a poor Irish stranger,
That's wandered thus far from his home;
I sigh for protection from want, woe and danger,
But know not which way for to roam.
I ne'er shall return to Hibernia's bowers,
For bigotry hath trampled her sweetest of flowers,
That gave comfort to me in my loneliest hour.
They are gone and I'll ne'er " see them more.

"With wonder I gazed on yon proud, lofty building,
As in grandeur it rose from its lord;
With sorrow I beheld ray own garden soon yielding
Its choicest of fruits for its board.
But where is my father's low cottage of clay,
Wherein I did spend many a long happy day?
Alas! has his lordship contrived it away?
Yes, it's gone and I'll ne'er see it more.

When nature was seen on the sole bush and bramble.
Sit smiling in beautiful bloom.
O'er fields without danger I used to ramble,
And lavish amidst her perfume;
Or range thro' the woods where the gay feather'd throng,
Did joyfully sing their loud-echoing song,
The days then of Summer passed sweetly along,
Now they are gone and I'll ne'er see them more.

When the sloes and the berries hung ripe on the bushes,
I've gathered them oft without harm,
And gone to the fields where I've shorn the green rushes,
Preparing for Winter's cold storm;
Or I've sat by the fire on a cold Winter's night,
Along with my friends telling tales of delight;
Those tales gave me pleasure, I could them invite,
Now they are gone, shall I ne'er see them more?

But Erin, sad Erin, it grieves me to ponder,
On the wrongs of thy injured isle;
Thy sons, many thousands, deploring to wander
On shores far away in exile;
But give me the power to cross o'er the main,
America might yield me some shelter from pain;
I'm only lamenting whilst here I remain,
For the joys that I'll never see more.

Farewell then to Erin, and those I left weeping
Upon her disconsolate shore;
Farewell to the grave where my father lies sleeping,
That ground I still dearly adore.
Farewell to each pleasure, "I once had at home.
Farewell, now a stranger in England I roam;
O give me my past joys, or give me a tomb,
Yes, in pity I ask for no more.