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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
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THE GREEN ABOVE THE RED.
Full often when our fathers saw the red above the green, They rose in rude but fierce array, with saber, pike and skian, And over many a noble town, and many a fieid of dead, They proudly set the Irish green above the English red.
But in the end, throughout the land, the shameful sight was seen— The English red in triumph high above the Irish green; But weil they died in breach and field, who, as their spirits fled, Still saw the green maintain, its place above the English red.
And they who saw, in after times, the red above the green, "Were withered as the grass that dies beneath the forest screen; Yet often by this healthy hope their sinking hearts were fed, That, in some day to come, the green shouid flutter o'er the red.
Sure 'twas for this Lord Edward died, and Wolfe Tone sunk serene— Because they could not bear to leave the red above the green; And 'twas for this that Owen fought and Sarsfield nobly bled— Because their eyes were hot to see the green above the red.
So when the strife began again, our darling Irish green Was down upon the earth, while high the Euglish red was seen; Yet still we hold our fearless course, for something in us said, Before the strife is o'er you'll see the green above the red.
And 'tis for this we think and toil, and knowledge strive to glean, That we may pull the English red below the Irish green; And leave our sons sweet liberty and smiling plenty spread, Above the land once dark with blood—the green above the red.
The jealous English tyrant now has banned the Irish green, And forced us to conceal it like a something foul and mean; But yet, by heaven! he'll sooner raise his victims from the dead, Than force our hearts to leave the green and cotton to the red.
We'll trust ourselves, for God ts good, and blesses those who lean (On their brave hearts, and not upon an earthly king or queen; *And, freely as we lift our hands we vow our blood to shed, Once and forever more to raise the green above the red. |
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THE OLD BOG-HOLE.
The pig is in the mire and the cow is in the grass,
A man without a woman through this world wiii sadly pass;
My mother likes the ducks, and the ducks likes the drakes,
Arrah! sweet Judy Flanagan, I'd die for your sakes.
My Judy she's as lair as the flowers on the lea,
She's neat and complete from the neck to the knee;
We met the other night our hearts to condole,
And I sat my Judy down by the old bog-hole.
Chorus.—
Arrah! cushla mavoureen, will you marry me? Arrah! gramachre mavoureen, will you marry me? Arrah! cushla mavoureen, will you marry me? Arrah! would you fancy the bold bouncing Barney Magee?
Judy she blushed and she hung down her head, Saying: Barney, you blackguard, I'd like to get wed; But you are such a rogue and you are such a rake! Don't believe it, says I, it is ail a mistake; To keep you genteel I'll work at my trade, I'll handle a hook, a shovel and a spade; And the turf I'll procure which is better than coal. And I'll dig to my knees in the old bog-hole.
Arrah! cushla mavoureen, etc. |
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