| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. 101
THE FENIAN'S ESCAPE.
New. keys. If you will listen to the story I'll relate,
I'll tell you of the noble men who from the foe escaped;
Though bound with Saxon fetters in the dark Australian jail.
They struck a. blow for freedom, and for Yankee land set sail.
On the 17th of April last the Stars and Stripes did fly
On board the bark "Catalpa," waving proudly to the sky;
She showed the green above the red, as she did calmly lay
Prepared to take the Fenian boys in safety o'er the sea.
When Breslin and brave Desmond brought the prisoners to the shore
They gave one shout for freedom—soon to bless them evermore—
And manned by gallant hearts, they pulled toward the Yankee flag,
For well they knew, from Its proud folds no tyrant could them drag.
They have nearly reached In safety the "Catalpa," taut and trim,
When fast approaching them they saw a vision dark and dim;
It was the steamer "Georgette," and on her deck there stood
One hundred hired assassins, to shed each patriot's blood.
The steamer reached the bounding bark and fired across her bow,
Then in loud voice commanded that the vessel should heave to;
But noble Captain Anthony, in thunder tones did cry:
You dare not Are a shot at that bright flag that floats on high;
My ship is sailing peacefully beneath that flag of stars.
It's manned by Irish hearts of oak, and manly Yankee tars;
And that dear emblem at the fore, so plain now to be seen,
'Tls the banner I'll protect, old Ireland's flag of green.
The Britisher he sailed away—from the Stars and Stripes he ran—
He knew his chance was slim to fight the boys of Uncle Sam;
So Hogan, Wilson, Harrington, with Darragh off did go,
With Hassett and bold Cranston, soon to whip the Saxon foe.
Here's luck to that noble captain, who well these men did free.
He dared the English man-of-war to fight him on the sea;
And here's to that dear emblem which in triumph shall be seen.
The flag for which those patriots fought, dear Ireland's flag of green. |
||
|
|
||
|
THY HARP, BELOVED ERIN.
Thy harp, beloved Erin, sounds over the deep, Like the murmuring sigh of an Infant asleep— My own native Ireland—my dear native Ireland,
Oh, Erln-go-bragh. The gales that blow o'er thee, lovely Ireland, are dear As a mother's caress, or a penitent's tear, Oh, the heart homes of Ireland—the dear, dear homes Ireland,
Oh, Erln-go-bragh. The dove ne'er returned whom the ark saw depart, For he built an abode in Hibernia's heart, Olive branch'd Ireland, olive branch'd Ireland,
Oh, Erin-go-bragh. i |
||
|
|
||
|
THE OLD RACE.
Hurra for the brave old Irish race That Are or sword could not efface. That lives and thrives and grows apace
However its foes assail It— That point by point, and day by day Wins back its rights, and works its way! And bursts Its bonds—Hurra! Hurra!
With a hundred cheers we'll hail it! What did those foes to the old race do? They wreck'd their country through and through, They robb'd and strlpp'd, they hacked and slew.
They hang'd and burn'd, and drdwn'd them, But vainly spent were storm and shock On that deathless seed, that living rock— The Isle is filled with the brave old stock,
And they've worth and wealth around them! |
||