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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER.
And happy and bright are the groups that pass
For their peaceful homes (or miles, O'er fields and roads and hills to mass.
When Sunday morning smiles; And deep the zeal their true hearts feel, When low they kneel and pray; Oh, dear old Ireland 1 Blest old Ireland! Ireland, boys, Hurrah!
But deep In Canadian woods we've met.
And never may see again The dear old isle where our hearts are set.
And our first fond hopes remain! But come, fill up another cup, And with every sup let's say— Here's lov'd old Ireland! Good old Ireland! Ireland, boys, Hurrah! |
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0, SONS OF ERIN.
O, sons of Erin, brave and strong,
Upon your prostrate mother gaze; Her sorrows have been overlong,
'Tls time her beauteous face to raise. When tyranny usurps the right,
And chivalry pines In the jail, There's deep revenge In Freedom's fight—
'Tis life to win, 'tis death to fall!
The power of monarchy Is steel,
And crushing, soul-subduing laws, (Whose weight alone the toilers feel,
And murmur oft, and know the cause. And battle oft the despot's might,
And scorning torture and the Jail, Seek swift revenge in Freedom's fight—
'Tis life to win, 'tis death to fail!
Wild—wild's the night e'er freedom's sun
Lights up the ramparts of the free; It rolls away, the battle's won,
And sounds a glorious reveille— A reveille of hearts full light,
Uncrushed by slavery and'lhe jail, It echoed down the Alpine height,
'Twill glad the hills of Innisfall! |
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I WOULD NOT DIE.
I would not die in this bright hour,
While Hope's sweet stream is flowing; I would not die while Youth's gay flower
In springtide pride Is glowing. The path I trace in fiery dreams
For manhood's flight, to-morrow, Oh, let me tread, 'mid those bright gleams
Which souls from Fame will borrow. I would not die! I would not die!
In Youth's bright hour of pleasure; I would not leave, without a sigh,
The dreams, the hopes, I treasure! |
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