There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle,
'Twas St. Patrick himself sure that set it;
And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye often wet it.
It thrives through the bog, through the brake, and the mireland;
And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland--
The sweet little shamrock, the dear little shamrock,
The sweet little, green little, shamrock of Ireland!
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Dear Erin, how sweetly thy green bosom rises!
An emerald set in the ring of the sea.
read more
Dear Erin, how sweetly thy green bosom rises!
An emerald set in the ring of the sea.
Each blade of thy meadows my faithful heart prizes,
Thou queen of the west, the world's cushla ma chree.
There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.
There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.
We . . . are no petty people. We are one of the great stocks of
Burke; we are read more
We . . . are no petty people. We are one of the great stocks of
Burke; we are the people of Swift, the people of Emmet, the
people of Parnell. We have created most of the modern literature
of this country. We have created the best of its political
intelligence.
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.
For dear is the Emerald Isle of the ocean,
Whose daughters are fair as the foam of the wave,
read more
For dear is the Emerald Isle of the ocean,
Whose daughters are fair as the foam of the wave,
Whose sons unaccustom'd to rebel commotion,
Tho' joyous, are sober--tho' peaceful, are brave.
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.
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.
Th' an'am an Dhia, but there it is--
The dawn on the hills of Ireland.
God's angels read more
Th' an'am an Dhia, but there it is--
The dawn on the hills of Ireland.
God's angels lifting the night's black veil
From the fair sweet face of my sireland!
O Ireland, isn't it grand, you look
Like a bride in her rich adornin',
And with all the pent up love of my heart
I bid you the top of the morning.
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.
