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.
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Eternal is the fact that the human creature born in Ireland and
brought up in its air is Irish. read more
Eternal is the fact that the human creature born in Ireland and
brought up in its air is Irish. I have lived for twenty years in
Ireland and for seventy-two in England; but the twenty came first
and in Britain I am still a foreigner and shall die one.
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.
Whether on the scaffold high
Or on the battle-field we die,
Oh, what matter, when for Erin read more
Whether on the scaffold high
Or on the battle-field we die,
Oh, what matter, when for Erin dear we fall.
Every Irishman has a potatoe in his head.
Every Irishman has a potatoe in his head.
There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and read more
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.
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.
When Erin first rose from the dark-swelling flood,
God blessed the green island, he saw it was good.
read more
When Erin first rose from the dark-swelling flood,
God blessed the green island, he saw it was good.
The Emerald of Europe, it sparkled and shone
In the ring of this world, the most precious stone.
There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.
There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.
An Irishman's heart is nothing but his imagination.
An Irishman's heart is nothing but his imagination.
