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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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When fire and sword had done their part*, Then tried those foes their baser arts. By dark degrees to change the hearu
That never would yield or falter; But now, as in the days of old, The Irish heart is native gold. Cast in the glorious heaven-made msuld.
No power on earth can alter! And If good work is yet undone. If rights remain yet to be won, As sure as the rising of the sun,
'Twill be the same proud story, Till ends the strife in Liberty, Till stands the race redeemed and free, And all the Isle from sea to sea
Is one bright field of glory! |
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EMMET'S FAEEWELL TO HIS LOVE.
Farewell, love, farewell, love, I now must leave you,
The pale moon is shining her last beam on me; In truth, I do declare I never deceived you,
For It's next to my .heart is dear Erin and thee. Draw near to my bosom, my first and fond true love,
And cherish the heart that beats only for thee; And let my cold grave with green laurels be strewn, lov«.
For I'll die for my country, dear Erin, and thee. Oh, never again in the moonlight we'll roam, love,
When the birds are at rest and the stars they do shine; Oh, never again shall I kiss thy sweet lips, love,
Or wander by streamlets with thy hands pressed in mine. Oh, should a mother's love make 'all others forsake me.
Oh, give me a promise before that I die, That you'll come to my grave when all others forsake me,
And there with the soft winds breathe sigh then for sigh. My hour is approaching, let me take one fond look, love.
And watch thy pure beauty till my soul does depart; Let thy ringlets fall on my face and brow, love,
Draw near till I press thee to my fond and true heart. Farewell, love, farewell, love, the words are now spoken,
The pale moon is shining her last beams on me; Farewell, love, farewell, love, I hear the death token,
Never more in .this world your Emmet you'll see. |
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THE F0EL0EN HOPE.
Let us lift the green flag high
Underneath this foreign sky, Unroll the verdant volume to the wind,
As we hasten to the fight
Let us drink a last good night To the beauty which we leave, boys, behind, behind, behind; To the beauty which we leave, boys, behind.
Plant it high upon the breach,
And within the flag-staff's reach; We'll offer it the tribute of our gore.
Yes! on that altar high,
'Spite of tyrants we can die, And our spirits to the saints above may soar, soar, soar; And our spirits to the saints above may soar.
Liberty Is gone,
Now 'tis glory leads us on, And spangles gloomy slavery's night;
If freedom's shattered bark
Has not foundered i' the dark, Her wreck must see this beacon bright, bright, bright; Her wreck will see this beacon bright. |
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