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220 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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JOHN O'HAGAN
(i822-i890)
DEAR LAND
W
HEN comes the day all hearts to weigh, If stanch they be or vile, Shall we forget the sacred debt We owe our mother isle ? My native heath is green beneath,
My native waters blue, But crimson red o'er both shall spread Ere I am false to you,
Dear land, Ere I am false to you.
When I behold your mountains bold,
Your noble lakes and streams, A mingled tide of grief and pride
Within my bosom teems. I think of all your long dark thrall,
Your martyrs, brave and true, And dash apart the tears that start;
We must not weep for you, Dear land,
We must not weep for you.
My grandsire died his home beside, They seized and hanged him there;
His only crime, in evil time, Your hallowed green to wear.
Across the main his brothers twain |
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