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268 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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And now the doleful keen is raised—" What will poor
Ireland do?
What must poor Ireland do ? Our luck, they say, has gone to France. What can
poor Ireland do ? "
Oh, never fear for Ireland, for she has so'gers still, For Remy's boys are in the wood, and Rory's on the
hill; And never had poor Ireland more loyal hearts than
these — May God be kind and good to them, the faithful
Rapparees !
The fearless Rapparees! The jewel waar ye, Rory, with your Irish Rapparees !
Oh, black's your heart, Clan Oliver, and coulder than
the clay! Oh, high's your head, Clan Sassenach, since Sarsfield's
gone away ! It's little love you bear to us for sake of long ago — But howld your hand, for Ireland still can strike a
deadly blow —
Can strike a mortal blow — Och ! dar-a-Chriost!' 'tis she that still could strike
the deadly blow !
The master's bawn, the master's seat, a surly bodachx
fills.; The master's son, an outlawed man, is riding on the
hills;
1 Bodach, a severe, inhospitable man; a churl. |
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