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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 101 |
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When the prince, now an exile, shall come for his own, The isles of his father, his rights and his throne, My people in battle the Saxons will meet, And kick them before, like old shoes from their feet.
O'er mountains and valleys they'll press on their
rout, The five ends of Erin shall ring to their shout; My sons all united shall bless the glad day When the flint-hearted Saxons they've chased far
away. |
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THE CONVICT OF CLONMEL From the Irish.
H
OW hard is my fortune, And vain my repining ! The strong rope of fate For this young neck is twining. My strength is departed;
My cheek sunk and sallow; While I languish in chains, In the jail of Cluanmeala.
No boy in the village
Was ever yet milder, I'd play with a child,
And my sport would be wilder. I'd dance without tiring
From morning till even, And the goal-ball I'd strike
To the lightning of Heaven. |
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