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8 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Oh ! often upon the Texan plains,
When the day and the chase were over, My thoughts would fly o'er the weary wave,
And around this coast-line hover; And the prayer would rise that some future day —
All danger and doubting scornin'— I'd help to win for my native land
The light of Young Liberty's mornin' !
Now fuller and truer the shore line shows —
Was ever a scene so splendid ! I feel the breath of the Munster breeze;
Thank God that my exile's ended ! Old scenes, old songs, old friends again,
The vale and cot I was born in — O Ireland ! up from my heart of hearts
I bid you the top o' the mornin' ! |
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