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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
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THREE LEAVES OF SHAMROCK.
When leaving dear old Ireland In the merry month of June,
The birds were sweetly singing, and all nature seemed in tune,
An Irish girl accosted me, with a sad tear in her eye,
And, as she spoke these words to me, bitterly did cry;
Kind sir, I ask a favor, oh, grant it to me, please.
'Tis not much that I ask of you, but 'twill set my heart at ease.
Take these to my brother Ned, who's far across the sea,
And don't forget to tell him, sir, that they were sent by me.
Chorus.—
Three leaves of shamrock, the Irishman's shamrock, From his own darling sister, her blessing, too, she gave;
Take them to my brother, for I have no one other, And. these are the shamrocks from his dear old mother's grave. Tell him since he went away how bitter was ■ pur lot, The landlord came one winter day and turned us from our cot; Our troubles were so many, and our friends so very few. And, brother, dear, our mother used to often sigh for you. Oh, darling son,-come back! she often used to say; Alas I one day she sickened, and soon was laid away. Her grave I've water'd with my tears, that's where the flowers grew, And, brother, dear, they're, all I've got, and them I'll send to you. |
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A HANDFUL OF EARTH.
I must leave this dear old place where my childhood days were spent,
And the cottage, hidden 'mong the purple hills, 4 must say good-by to all that have made my life content,
How the thoughts with bitter tears my eyes it fills; But before I go away, to return again no more, Ere I wander in that land beyond the wave, In the memory I'll take of the golden days of yore
Just a handful of earth from mother's grave. Chorus.—
Just a handful of earth from the land of my birth,
For mem'ry's sweet sake I will save, From the lowly green mound, in the grim churchyard ground, Just a handful of earth from mother's grave.
When I've crossed the deep blue sea and look back on Erin's shore.
As it slowly fades beyond the distance fair, Tho' my thoughts and heart be sad, it will comfort me the more
That I bear this token of her love and care; i
And, when troubles shall assail in the pathway of my life,
I will struggle on in silence and be brave. For 'twill guide me safely through ev'ry worldy care and strife,
Just this handful of earth from mother's gravo. |
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IN DUBLIN'S SWEET CITY.
In Dublin's sweet city, that city so fair,
Och! who is the creature that has not been there,
Just to see all the gems of our emerald Isle, Its Bay, and its Mountains, its turrets and domes, And oh! more than all its true warm-hearted homes,
Where the sunshine of life is her daughter's sweet smile, You may traverse the Globe 'mongst the rich, and the poor, May enter the cottage, or fine gilded door, But wherever you wander, wherever you rove, 'Tis in Ireland alone that you'll find Irish love,
And their sprigs of Shillelagh, and Shamrock so green.
There Is no barm in speaking of Donnybrook fair,
For the tune that I'm singing they say was sung there,
In praise of ould Ireland the gem of the sea. 'Tis a country so perfect in every respect, That to lave out a virtue might seem like neglect,
Tho' to mention them all, is perhaps not for me. |
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