American Old Time Song Lyrics: 38 The Dear Emerald Isle

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 38

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Tune-"I Always Shall Speak of Old Ireland with Pride."
Written by Georgr W.York.

Kind friends will ye help a poor, weary stranger,
Whose foot-sore and weary and hungry the while?
I've nothing to give, but an orphan will bless you
If you'll help a poor boy from the dear emerald isle.
But a year ago, sure, I was smiling and happy;
Not a care on my mind, and a heart free from guile.
In a dear little cabin at the foot of the mountain.
That rears its proud head o'er the dear em'rald isle.

My father and mother, God bless their dear mem'ry.
Were contented and happy, although they were poor;
The land it was bad, and they worked late and early
To pay up the rent, with the wolf at the door.
At length my poor father took ill of a fever.
From toiling so hard on the bleak, barren soil:
Although my poor mother was careful and tender,
He died, and now lies 'neath the dear em'rald isle.

Then the sheriff he came with a band of armed ruffians
To turn out a child and a mother so gray;
And deaf to all pleading they tore down our cabin-
At the point of the bayonet they drove us away.
Then hunger and sorrow soon told on my mother;
Like a flower she drooped and faded away;
And with a last blessing, while her poor child caressing,
She gave up her life and was laid neath the clay.

Then they laid my dear mother beside my poor father-
I planted a shamrock just over their grave;
While I, a poor orphan, driven forth by misfortune,
To leave that dear land, and to cross the wild wave;
But, wherever I wander, I ever shall ponder
And dream of the time when nature did smile
On my father And mother And dear loving brother
And the old cabin home in the dear em'rald isle.

Then if ever the Father shall look down in pity,
And cast off the yoke that does Ireland enslave,
I'll hie me back then to the scenes of my childhood,
And pluck a pure shamrock from my dear parents' grave.
Don't say no more, boy, for I, too, am a daughter;
And to think of her wrongs, oh, it makes my blood rile;
And I pray that the time is not very far distant
When the green shall wave proud o'er the dear em'rald isle.
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