There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;
For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing.
To wander along by the wind-beaten hill.
But the day star attracted his eyes' sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion
He sang the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh.
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There ought to be system of manners in every nation which a
well-formed mind would be disposed to relish. read more
There ought to be system of manners in every nation which a
well-formed mind would be disposed to relish. To make us love
our country, our country ought to be lovely.
Arm of Erin, prove strong, but be gentle as brave,
And, uplifted to strike, still be ready to save;
read more
Arm of Erin, prove strong, but be gentle as brave,
And, uplifted to strike, still be ready to save;
Not one feeling of vengeance presume to defile
The cause or the men of the Emerald Isle.
Old Dublin City there is no doubtin'
Bates every city upon the say.
'Tis there you'd hear read more
Old Dublin City there is no doubtin'
Bates every city upon the say.
'Tis there you'd hear O'Connell spoutin'
And Lady Morgan making tay.
For 'tis the capital of the finest nation,
With charmin' pisintry upon a fruitful sod,
Fightin' like devils for conciliation,
And hatin' each other for the Love of God.
Who dare to love their country, and be poor.
Who dare to love their country, and be poor.
When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the
trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but read more
When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the
trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.
Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
O, love is the soul of a true Irishman;
He loves all that's lovely, loves all that he can,
read more
O, love is the soul of a true Irishman;
He loves all that's lovely, loves all that he can,
With his sprig of shillelagh and shamrock so green.
There is a stone there,
That whoever kisses,
Oh! he never misses
To grow read more
There is a stone there,
That whoever kisses,
Oh! he never misses
To grow eloquent.
'Tis he may clamber
To a lady's chamber
Or become a member
Of Parliament.
My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor.
My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor.
