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330 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Still call, till I hear no voice but the voice of thy love, Till stars shall appear the night of my darkness above, Till night to the dawn gives way, and death to new
life — Heart-full of thy might, astir with thy tumult and
strife. |
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THE FAIR HILLS OF EIRE
Air: " Uileacan Dub O."
T
AKE my heart's blessing over to dear Eire's strand— Fair Hills of Eire O ! To the Remnant that love her—Our Forefathers' Land ! Fair Hills of Eire 0 ! How sweet sing the birds, o'er mount there and vale, Like soft-sounding chords, that lament for the Gael,— And I, o'er the surge, far, far away must wail The Fair Hills of Eire O.
How fair are the flowers on the dear daring peaks,
Fair Hills of Eire O ! Far o'er foreign bowers I love her barest reeks,
Fair Hills of Eire O ! Triumphant her trees, that rise on ev'ry height, Bloom-kissed, the breeze comes odorous and bright, The love of my heart 1—O my very soul's delight !
The Fair Hills of Eire O !
Still numerous and noble her sons who survive, Fair Hills of Eire O ! |
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