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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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And will Ireland then be free?
Says the Shan Van Vogh; Will Ireland then be free!
Says the Shan Van Vogh. Yes! Ireland shall be free, From the centre to the sea; Then hurrah for Liberty!
Says the Shan Van Vogh,
Yes! Ireland, &c. |
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THE WEARING OF THE GREEN.
0, Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round? The Shamrock is forbid by laws, to grow on Irish ground; No more St. Patrick's day we'll keep, his color last be seen, For there's a bloody law agin the wearing of the green. O, I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand, And he says, "How is Ould Ireland, and how does she stand?** "She's the most distressed country that ever I have seen, For they are hanging men and women for the wearing of green."
And since the color we must wear, is England's cruel red,
Ould Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed:
Then take the Shamrock from your hat, and cast it on the sod,
It will take root, and flourish still, tho' under foot 'tis trod.
When the law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow.
And when the leaves in summer-time their verdure does not show,
Then I will change the color I wear in my caubeen,
But till that day, plaze God, I'll stick to the wearing of the green.
But if at last her colors should be torn from Ireland's heart; Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old soil will part; I've heard whispers of a country that, lies far beyond the sea, Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom's day. O! Erin, must we leave you, driven by the tyrant's hand? Must we ask a mother's blessing In a strange but happy land? Where the cruel cross of England's thraldom is never to be seen, But where, thank God, we'll live and die, still wearing of the green. |
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THE DEATH OF SARSFIELD.
Sarsfleld has sailed from Limerick Town, He held It long for country and crown; And ere he yielded, the Saxon swore To spoil our homes and our shrines no more.
Sarsfleld and all his chivalry "Are fighting for France in the Low Countries— "At his fiery charge the Saxons reel, They learned at Limerick to dread the steel.
Sarsfleld is dying on Landen's plain; His corselet hath met the ball in vain— As his life-blood gushes into his hand, He says, "Oh! that this was for fatherland!"
Sarsfield is dead, yet no tears shed we— For he died In the arms of Victory. And his dying words shall edge the brand, When we chase the foe from our native land! |
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THE IRISH HURRAH.
Have you hearkened the eagle scream over the sea? Have you hearkened the breaker beat under your lee? A something between the wild waves, In their play, And the kingly bird's scream, is the Irish Hurrah.-
How it rings on the rampart when Saxons assail— How it leaps on the level, and crosses the vale, Till the talk of the cataract faints on its' way, And the echo's voice cracks with the Irish Hurrah. |
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