Back, back to his dungeon they bore him,
Our champion, our stay, and our guide!
Ah! well may his country deplore him-
Deplore, but deplore him with pride.
Be his name ever treasured with glory;
In green and in gold be it seen-
In gold may it glimmer in story,
In our hearts may it never be green.
A Brutus in love for his nation,
But a kind-hearted Brutus was he-
Himself both high-priest and oblation-
Himself neither freeing nor free-
A Tell, eschewing all glory,
Yet yearning for liberty's glow -
A hero unrivaled in story,
Who, fettered, confounded his foe!
Thou art gone, Michael Davitt, our martyr;
Yet, grieving, we pride in thy name,
For we know thou thy lot would'st not barter
For a crown won by treason and shame;
Yet a duplicate crown is preparing
To encircle thy brow full of love--
One smiles through the shamrocks of Erin,
Oue gleams 'mongst the angels above!
And if thou art kept from us, brother,
Then, phoenix-like, may it be told
That out of thy ashes another
Sprung up with a spirit as bold;
How the reptile, with coils tare and splendid,
Tried vainly our ranks to disband;
How we fought the good fight till it ended,
And, ending, gave peace to our land.
Back, back to his dungeon they bore him.
Our champion, our stay, and our pride!
Ah! well may our people deplore him.
Our savior, our joy, and our pride-
The chiefest of patriot sages,
The beacon of hope to our isle.
Whose name shall be treasured through ages
Where'er sacred freedom doth smile.