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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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And ours shall be the pralne and the forest, And boundless meadows ripe with golden grain.
Cheer! boys, cheer! for Erin, dearest Erin; Cheer! boys, cheer! united heart and hand;
Cheer! boys, cheer! there's wealth for honest labor; Cheer! boys, cheer! for the new and happy land. |
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OLD IRELAND I ADORE.
Oh! Erin's Isle, my heart's delight,
I long to see thee free— Where'er I am by day or night.
This heart beats warm for thee. I'm grieved to see thee so oppressed.
But what can I do more— Oh! gramachrce, I weep for thee.
Old Ireland I adore. Your scenes surpasses all on earth,
They are so rich and rare, Your sons are of the noblest birth.
None with them can compare; Oppressed and starved, they are
Compelled to wander from your shore. Oh, gramachree, I weep for thee.
Old Ireland I adore. Oh, hard must .be the tyrant's heart,
To link you to his chains, And yet your sons have took his part
On many well-fought plains; 4nd yet you're bound there as a slave,
While we our loss deplore. Oil, gramachree, I weep for thee,
Old Ireland I adore. . I'd like to know what you have done,
Tltat still you can't be free; But this I know, you had a son,
That struggled hard for thee; O'Connell was that hero's name,
He was known from shore to shore; Oh, gramachree, he'd have set thee free;
But, alas! he Is no more. If we were free, as once we were,
How happy might we be! No foreign landlord then would dare
To lord it over thee. We'd have our homes, and bread to eat
As once we had before. Oh, gramachree, may we live to see
Old Ireland free once more. |
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THE IRISH MAIDEN'S SONG,
Through lofty Scotia's mountains,
Where savage grandeur reigns, Though bright be England's fountains.
And fertile be her plains; When 'mid their charms I wander.
Of thee I think the while. And seem of thee the fonder.
My own green Isle! While many who have left thee.
Seem to forget thy name, Distance hath not bereft me
Of its endearing claim. Afar from thee sojourning.
Whether I sigh or smile, I call thee still "Mavourneen,"
My own green Isle! |
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