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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. 203
Now, Sassenach and Cromweller, take heed of what I say-Keep down your black and angry looks, that scorn us night and day; For there's a Just and wrathful Judge that every action sees, And He'll make strong, to right our wrong, the faithful Rapparees!
The fearless Rapparees! The men that rode at Sarsfield's side, the roving Rapparees! |
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HERE'S THE BOW'R.
Here's the bow'r she lov'd so much.
And the tree she planted; Here's the harp she used to touch—
Oh! how that touch enchanted! Roses now unheeded sigh,
Where's the hand to wreathe them? Songs around neglected He,
Where's the lip to breathe them? Here's the bow'r she lov'd so much,
And the tree she planted; Here's the harp she used to touch—
Oh! how that touch enchanted! Spring may bloom, but she we lov'd
Ne'er shall feel Its sweetness; Time, that once so fleetly moved.
Now hath lost its fleetness. Years were days, when here she strayed;
Days were moments near her. Heav'n ne'er formed a brighter maid.
Nor pity wept a dearer! Here's the bow'r she lov'd so much
And the tree she planted; Here's the harp she us'd to touch—
Oh! how that touch enchanted! |
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THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE.
His kiss Is sweet, his word is kind,
His love is rich to me; I could not in a palace find
A truer heart than he. The eagle shelters not his nest
From hurricane and hall, More bravely than he guards my breast—
The Boatman of Kmsale. The wind that round the Fastnet sweeps
Is not a whit more pure— The goat that down Cnoc Sheehy leaps
Has not a foot more sure. No firmer hand nor freer eye
E'er faced an Autumn gale— De Courcy's heart Is not so high—
The Boatman of Kinsale. The brawling squires may heed him not,
The dainty stranger sneer— But who will dare to hurt our cot,
When Myles O'Hea Is here? The scarlet soldiers pass along—
They'd like, but fear to rail— His blood is hot, his blow is strong—
The Boatman of Kinsale. His hooker's in the Scllly van,
When seines are in the foam; But money never made the man.
Nor wealth a happy home; So, blest with love and liberty,
While he can trim a sail, He'll trust In God, and cling to me—
The Boatman of Kinsale. |
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