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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
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That numbers of men are eager to slay you,
Their malice you viewed with a smile. Their gold through all Europe they sowed to betray you.
And they joined the Mamelukes on the Nile, Like ravens for blood their vile passions did burn, The orphans they slew, and caused the widows to mourn, They say my linnet's gone and ne'er will return,
Is he gone—will I never see him more? When the trumpet of war the grand blast was sounding,
You marched to the north with good will, To relieve the poor slaves in their vile sack clothing.
You used your exertion and skill. You spread out the wings of your envied train, While tyrants great Cajsar's old nest set in names, Their own subjects they caused to eat herbs on the plains,
Are you gone—will I never see you more? In great Waterloo, where numbers laid sprawling,
In every field, high or low, Fame on her trumpets through Frenchmen was calling.
Fresh laurels to place on her brow. Usurpers did tremble to hear the loud call, The third old Babe's new buildings did fall The Spaniards their fleet In the harbor did call.
Are you gone—will I never see you more? ' I'll roam through the deserts of wild Abyssinia,
And yet And no cure for my pain, Will I go and Inquire In the Isle of St. Helena?
No, we will whisper In vain. Tell me, you critics, now tell me in time, The nation I will range my sweet linnet to find, Was he slain at Waterloo, or Elba on the Rhine?
If he was, I will never see him more. |
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MY GRA GAL MACHREE.
O, blooming and fair
Was the young nymph who stole The love of my heart
And the peace of my soul; Two eyes, like the stars,
Shining bright o'er the sea, And a heart warm with love
Has my Ora Gal Machree. The long, curling hair
On her white bosom hung, And heart-stealing music
Fell sweet from her tongue. And the blush on her cheek
Told of something to me. When first I beheld her.
My Gra Gal Machree. That her dear heart was mine
Sure that rising blush told, And they say that my love
Will soon change and grow cold; But their words are all false,
For I'll love only thee, Tlli death cools this heart.
My Gra Gal Machree. O, blooming and fair
Was the young nymph who stole The love of my heart
And the peace of my soul; Two eyes, like the stars,
Shining bright o'er the sea, And a heart warm with love
Has my Gra Gal Machrea. |
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