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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 221 |
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Were sent to pine and rue, But still they turned, with hearts that burned, In hopeless love to you,
Dear land, In hopeless love to you.
My boyish ear still clung to hear
Of Erin's pride of yore, Ere Norman foot had dared pollute
Her independent shore. Of chiefs long dead who rose to head
Some gallant patriots few, Till all my aim on earth became
To strike one blow for you, Dear land,
To strike one blow for you.
What path is best your rights to wrest,
Let other heads divine; By work or word, with voice or sword,
To follow them be mine; The breast that zeal and hatred steel
No terrors can subdue; If death should come, that martyrdom
Were sweet endured for you, Dear land,
Were sweet endured for you.
OURSELVES ALONE
T
HE work that should to-day be wrought, Defer not till to-morrow ; The help that should within be sought Scorn from without to borrow. |
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