The dust of some is Irish earth,
Among their own they rest.

The dust of some is Irish earth,
Among their own they rest.

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.

There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.

There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.