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	The Song Book	289

	Contempt for the minion, who calls you disloyal! Tho' fierce to the foe, to your friends you are true; And the tribute most high to a head that is royal, Is love from the heart that loves liberty too. While cowards, who blight Your fame, your right, Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array ; The standard of green In front would be seen,— O my life on your faith! were you suramon'd this minute, You'd cast every bitter remembrance away, And show what the arm of old Erin has in it, When roused by the foe on her Prince's day! He loves the green isle, and his love is recorded In hearts that have suffer'd too much to forget; And hope shall be crown'd, and attachment rewarded, And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet! The gem may be broke By many a stroke, But nothing can cloud its native ray; Each fragment will cast A light to the last. And thus, Erin, my country! tho' broken thou art, There's a lustre within thee, that ne'er will decay; A spirit, that beams thro' each suffering part, And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's day. Words by Moore. Tune (from Bunting) Patrick's Day. U