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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They love their land, because it is their own,
And scorn to give aught other reason why;
read more
They love their land, because it is their own,
And scorn to give aught other reason why;
Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
And think it kindness to his majesty.
Why should Ireland be treated as a geographical fragment of
England . . . Ireland is not a geographical read more
Why should Ireland be treated as a geographical fragment of
England . . . Ireland is not a geographical fragment, but a
nation.
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our read more
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee,--are all with thee!
My dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent,
Long may thy read more
My dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent,
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
If one could only teach the English how to talk, and the Irish
how to listen, society would be read more
If one could only teach the English how to talk, and the Irish
how to listen, society would be quite civilized.
The groves of Blarney
They look so charming
Down by the purling
Of sweet, read more
The groves of Blarney
They look so charming
Down by the purling
Of sweet, silent brooks.
Our country is that spot to which our heart is bound.
[Fr., La patrie est aux lieux ou l'ame read more
Our country is that spot to which our heart is bound.
[Fr., La patrie est aux lieux ou l'ame est enchainee.]
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.
The infant, on opening his eyes, ought to see his country, and to
the hour of his death never read more
The infant, on opening his eyes, ought to see his country, and to
the hour of his death never lose sight of it.
[Fr., Un enfant en ouvrant ses yeux doit voir la patrie, et
jusqu'a la mort ne voir qu'elle.]
