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266 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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On the weary forever its tide is bestown,
.So they'share with the stranger in fair Innishowen.
God guard the kind homesteads of fair Innishowen.
Which manhood and virtue have chos'n for their own;
Not long shall that nation in slavery groan,
That rears the tall peasants of fair Innishowen.
Like that oak of St. Bride which nor Devil nor Dane, Nor Saxon nor Dutchman could rend from her fane, They have clung by the creed and the cause of their
own Through the midnight of danger in true Innishowen. Then shout for the glories of old Innishowen, The stronghold that foemen have never o'er-
thrown — The soul and the spirit, the blood and the bone, That guard the green valleys of true Innishowen.
No purer of old was the tongue of the Gael, When the charging aboo made the foreigner quail; When it gladdens the stranger in welcome's soft tone. In the home-loving cabins of kind Innishowen,
Oh ! flourish, ye homesteads of kind Innishowen,
Where seeds of a people's redemption are sown ;
Right soon shall the fruit of that sowing have grown,
To bless the kind homesteads of green Innishowen.
When they tell us the tale of a spell-stricken band, All entranced, with their bridles and broadswords in
hand, Who await but the word to give Erin her own, |
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