e r ins- • X? F3 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS Hollinger Corp* P H 8.5 PR 1195 .17 F3 Copy 1 Emm E 8 M Uniform with this is published — fj The Favorite Lays of the Green Isle Songster, No. 2, ™ The Favorite Irish Sunburst Songster, Uo. 3. MteSTE m **©r Sale fey JENNINGS a* BOND Booksellers, Stationera and News Dealer* SPRINGFIELD, MASS. De Witt's Song and Joke Books. - ng Books contain all the New Bongl of the day, adapted to well known and popular t,l nen. and will be feund to be a valuable acquisition to the. stuck of de tiers. ok contains sixty-four pases, printed on flue white paper, and enclosed in a handsome cover, with an Illustrated Engraviug, and sold at the remarkably low price of TEN CI No. l Teddy Kegan. a Pal fcUTtoy. 3 Sh. iiinis O'Brien. 4 Wearing of the Green. 6 Tim Finnegan's Wake. C Handy Andy. T Paddy's Own. 8 Jolly Irishman. 9 Rocky Koad to Dublin 10 NorahO'Neil. 1 1 Annie Laurie. 12 Meet me in the Lane. 13 Gipsy's Warning. U Swinging 1b the tane. 15 Pretty Little Sarah. 16 Paddle your own Canoe. 1" Goose Hangs High. IS Vive laCompagnie. 19 Naughty Girl. 2') Waiting for a B'way Stage. 21 Big SHnflower. 22 Charley Vivian's. 23 Humpty Dumpty. 24 Black Crook. 25 Tilt Skirt. 26 Shaw's American Diadem. 27 Shaw's Champion Comic. 1i Who's been Here, Ac. 29 Fiee and Easy Comic. 30 Fellow thai Looks like Me. 31 J. S. Berry's Fiying Trapez* 32 J. S. Berry's Comic. 33 Pete Morris' Am. Comic. 34 Eph Horn's Own. 33 Bobby Newcomb's. 36 Bryant's Old Virginia. 37 Bryant's Power of Music. 33 Bryant's Songs, Dixie's Land 39 Bryan t'sCanebreak Refrains. 40 Bryant's New. 41 Hooley'a High Daddy. 42 Hooley's Black Star. 43 Mat Peel's Banjo. 44 Unsworlh's Burnt Cork. 4 5 Mar Dill Darrell.No. 1. 46 Mac-Dill Darrell,N«. 2. 48 Stars and Stripes' No. 2. 49 Patriotic. 50 Little Lotta Joker. 51 Solon Shingle's Joke Book. 61 Red Hot Joker. 53 New Dime American Joker. 54 MacDillDarrell Joker. 55 Old Abe's Joker. 56 Christy's Burnt Comicalities. 5 7 Christy's Clown and Joke. 5 8 Smith's Clown and Joke. 59 Captain Jinks. 60 Pulling Hard ag'st the Stream No. 61 Mabel Waltz. 62 After Dark, orTommy Dodd. 63 As Through the Park I Go. f»4 Walking Down Broadway. 65 Genevieve de Brabant. 66 Up In a Balloon. 67 Great Lingard. 68 Velocipede. 69 Daisy Dearie. 70 Wandering Refugee. 71 We Parted by the River Side 72 Lydia Thompson. 73 Father Mathew. 74 That's the Style for Me. 7.1 Sweet Genevieve. 76 Love among the Roses. 77 Little Maggie May. 78 Chapman Sisters. 79 Din Bryant's Shoo Fly. 80 Lotta Fire Fly. 81 Gus Williams' Big Noses. 82 Pauline Markham. 83 Won't Go Home tillMorn'g. 84 Pleasant Fellows . 85 Joe Emmet's Dietcher. 86 Teddy Reg»n Swaiie. 87 Rising of the Moon. SS Slap Bang. 89 Yankee Robinson's Amazon 90 My Father Sould Charcoal. 91 Beautiful Bells. 92 Kovin' Irish Bov. 93 How is that for High? 94 Broth of a Boy. 95 Alice Dunning. 96 Clown's Shoo Fly. 97 Kelly A Leon's. 98 Jenny Wallace Vocal Gems 99 Sol Smith Russell's. 100 It's Nice to be a Father. 101 Cohan's Dublin Jarvey. 102 D.iven from Home. 103 She's a Gal o' Mine. 104 Broken Down. 105 Adolphus Morning Glory. 106 Guzzling Jim. 10." FIT. .Me in /..., L'.iVieBeu. 108 You Know How 'lis, Ac. 109 ArtfulJoe. 110 It's Naughty but It's Nice. 111 Mad Butcher. 112 Now I Lay me Down, Ac. 113 Brigham Young. 114 Old Clown's Whoa. 115 Milburn'sGood as Gold. 116 Moet and Shannon. 117 Put Me in my Bed Joker. 118 Brudder Bones Joker. 119 HokeyPokev Joker. 120 Buikes Dublin Carman. No. 121 Lawlor's Barney the Guide 122 The Clown's. 123 Carry the News to Mary. 124 Kliein Wine Sharley. 125 IT Ever 1 Cease to Lore. 126 Heart was True to Poll. 127 Fatty Stewart. y had a Little Lamb. 129 Little Fraud. 130 Bryan O'Lvnn. 131 Gus Williams' I Don't Ac. 132 Roach's Last Sensation. 133 Band Begins to Play. 134 Down i n a Coal Mine. 135 Jolly Old Clown. 136 Fosters Favorite Clown. 137 Gus Williams' Mjgel bnyder 138 Howe's Great London. 139 Wallace Sisters. 140 Central Park Show. 141 J e n n'e Hughes' Serio Com I 142 Ned^Turner's New Songstei 143 All Among the Hay. 144 Canadian Boat Songster. 145 Dolly Varden. 146 Barney and Nora Songster. 14 7 International. 148 Com ting in the Rain. 149 Barney's Courtship. 150 Don't Go, Mollie, Darling. 151 Old Man's Di link Again. 153 Ten Thousand Miles Away. 153 Faded (oat of Blue Soug'r. 154 FhstSh- Would, Ac. 1.55 Howe's Gi eat London Var. 156 Agnes Wallace Little Gem. 157 Little Jack Sheppard. 158 O'Neil's Copper. 159 Johnny Smith's Variety. 160 Rody the Hover. 161 Gus Williams' German Band 162 Billy West's Banjo bolo. 163 The Dublin Dan. 164 Bulb r's Met. Theatre. 165 Lydia Thompson's Dancing Quaker*. -The Dundreary Joker. "" "*• Children Cry for them Joke The High Jinks Joker. Dan Morris new Irish * D'ch Berry's Song and Dance B Fav. Irish Patriotic. No. l. Fav. Lays of G'n Isle. No. Fav. Irish Sunburst. No 3. Engel's Bouquet of Melodies Lovelock's Com. Banjo Sol. Ryau's Shandy McGuire. Spring, Gentle Spring. That's the Way the Story Ac The Colleen Bawn. Above Books sent to any addrefs,on receipt of retail price, postage free. Address, Robert M. De Witt, 33 Rose St., N. Y. THE FAVORITE 'Irish Patriotic' songstee. [NO. 1] In this book will be found nearly all those GRAND OLD BATTLE SONGS, Which set the Irish heart a-fire. in those soul-stirring: days when the '* Wearers of the Green " boldly tried to free the ehamrock-turf from the heel of the Invader, Moat of the Songs in this Work are sung to those stirring or melting tunes that have teen Composed by those unequalled Native Bards, from Carolan to MooTe. MANY OF THEM HAVE BEEN ELOQUENTLY PRAISED BY The Eminent Scholars and Orators of Erin's Green Isle. Uniform with this will be published, No. 2, 4 The Favorite Lays of the Green Isle Songster, ' and No 8, ? The Favorite Irish Sunburst Songster- ' ■ ■■ <» « » ■»- — i /$OOCf NEW-YORK: ROBERT M. DE WITT. PUBLISHER, NO. 33 ROSE STREET. {Between Duane and Frankfort Streets.) Entered according to Act of Congress, in the vear 1873. by ROBERT M. DE WITT, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. CONTENTS OP THE FAVORITE "IRISH PATRIOTIC" SONGSTEE. i.) (So. PAGE. April 20th, 18G4 38 Boys that Wear the Green (The).. 18 Battle Eve of the Brigade (The).. 33 Boys of Wexford (The) 3G Battle of Beal-an-atha-Buidhe... 43 Celebrated Speech of Robert Em- met 3 Clare's Dragoons 52 Died for the Green — Ellen Hig- gins 23 Death of Sarsfield 42 Emmet's Death ': 11 Emmet's Grave -. . . 12 Emerald Isle (The) \.. 42 Form, Boy's, Form 1G Forlorn Hope (The) 44 Green Flag (The) 22 God Bless the Green Forever 2G Green Above the Bed (The) 59 Hour that Goes Before the Dawn (The) 14 Irish American (The) 29 Irish are no Longer Slaves 43 Irish War Song 4G Leinster War Song 5G VP 3 PAGE. Muster (The) 20 Men of Tipperary (The) 34 Martyr (The) 40 Mackenna's Dream 43 Myrtle and Shamrock (The) 54 Native Swords 47 f Patriot Brave (The) 25 Recruiting Song of the Irish Brig- ade 21 Itory of the mils 39 Rising of the Moon (The) 58 Song of the Irish-American Bri- gade 13 Stand Together 32 Song of the Volunteers of 1872... 35 Saxon Shilling (The) 51 Tipperary Recruiting Song 15 Up 55 Vow of Tipperary (The). 45 Wearing of the Green (The) Orig- inal 30 Wearing of the Green (The) GO We've a Throusaud Gen. Corco- rans to Lead us in the Strife. . 24 DOT The Music of all the Songs in this book can be obtained at any Music Store in the United States or Canada. 2 CELEBRATED SPEECH OF ROBERT EMMET, Esq Leader of the Irish Insurrection of 1803. My Lords, — I ain asked, what have I to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced on me, according to law ? I have nothing to say that can alter your predetermination, nor that it will become me to say, with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are to pronounce on me, and I must abide by. But I have that to say which interests me more than life, and which you have labored (as was necessarily your office in thepresent circumstances of this oppressed country) to destroy — I have much to say, why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusations and calumny which has been heaped oa it. I do not imagine that seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity, as to receive the least im- pression from what I am going to utter. I have no hope that I can anchor my character in the breast of a Court constituted and trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your Lordships may suffer it to float down your memories untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some more hospitable harbor to shelter it from the storm by which it is at present buffeted. Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur; but the sentence of the law which delivers my body to the executioner, will, through the ministry of that law, labor in its own vindication, to consign my charact- er to obloquy ; for there must be guilt somewhere ; whether in the sentence of Court or in the catastrophe, posterity must deter- mine. A man in my situation, my Lords, has not only to en- counter the difficulties of fortune, and the force of power over minds which it has corrupted or subjugated, but the difficulties of established prejudice ; the man dies, but his memory lives ; that mine may not perish — that it may live in the respect of my countrymen — I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged against me. When my spirit shall be \» afted to a more friendly port — when my shade shall have joined the bands of those martyred heroes who have shed m ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH.- [Coxtinuid. their blood on tho scaffold and in tlio field, in defence of their country and of virtue, this is my hope— I wish that my memory and name ma}' animate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfidious govern- ment, which upholds its dominion by blasphemy of the Most High ; which displays its power over man as over the beasts of the forest; which sets man upou his brother, and lifts his hand x n the name of God against the throat of his fellow, who be- lieves or doubts a little more than the Government standard — a government steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows which it has made. (Here Lord Norbury interrupted Mr. Emmet — saying, that the mean and wicked enthusiasts who felt as he did, were not equal to the accomplishment of their wild design.) I appeal to the immacirate God — I swear by the throne of Heaven, before which I must shortly appear — by tho blood of the murdered patriots who have gone before me, that my eon- duct has been, through all this peril and through all my pur- poses, governed only by the convictions which I have uttered, and by no other view than that of their cure, and the emanci- pation of my country from the snperinhuman oppression under which she has so long and too patiently travailed ; an 1 I confi- dently and assuredly hope that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, there is still union and strength in Ireland to accom- plish this noblest enterprise. Of this I speak with the confidence of intimate knowledge, and with the consolation that appertains to that confidence. Think not, my Lords, I say this for the petty gratification of giving you a transitory uneasiness ; a man who never yet raised his voice to assert a lie, will not hazard his character with posterity by asserting a falsehood on a subject so important to his coun- try, and on an occasion like this. Yes, my Lords, a man that does not wish to have his epitaph written until his country is liberated, will not leave a weapon in tho power of envy nor pre- tence to impeach the probity which he means to preserve even in the grave to which tyranny consigns him. [2] ROBEKT EMMET'S SPEECH.— [Continued. (Here he was again interrupted by the court.) Again I sa\\ that what I have spoken was not intended for your Lordships, whose situations I commiserate rather than envy — my expressions were for my countrymen — if there is a true Irishman present, let my last words cheer him in the hour of af- fliction. (Here he was again interrupted ; Lord Norbury said he did not sit there to hear treason.) I have alwa}'s understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a prisoner has been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law ; I have also understood that judges sometimes think it their duty to hear with patience, and to speak with humanity; to ex- hort the victim of the laws and to offer, with tender benignity, his opinion of the motives by which he was actuated in the crime of which ho was adjudged guilty* That a judge has thought it his duty so to have done, I have no doubt ; but where is the boasted freedom of your institutions ~ where is the vaunted im- partiality, clemency, and mildness of your courts of justice, if an unfortunate prisoner, whom your policy, and not your justice, is about to deliver into the hands of the executioner, is not suf- fered to explain his motives sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the principles by which he was actuated. My Lords, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man's mind by humiliation to the purposed ignominy of the scaffold — but worse to me than the proposed shame, or the scaffold's terrors, would be the shame of such foul and unfounded imputations as have been laid against me in this court. You, my Lord, are a Judge ; I am the supposed culprit ; I am a man ; you are a man also ; by a revolution of power, we n ight change places, though we never could change characters. If I stand at the bar of this court, and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is yt.ur justice. If I stand at this bar and dare not Vindicate my character how dare you calumniate it? Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts upon my body, condemn my tongue to your silence, and my reputation [31 ROBERT EMMETS SPEECH.— [Continue* to reproach ? Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence, but while I exist I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and my motives from yonr aspersions ; and as a man, to wliom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in dotal* justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which is the on'y legacy 1 can leave to those I honor and love, and for whom I am proud to perish. As men, my Lords, we must appear on the great day at one common tribunal, and it will then remain for the Searcher of all Hearts to show a collective universe, who was engaged in the most virtuous actions or actuated by the purest motive — my country's oppressors, or (Here he was again interrupted, and told to listen to the sentence of the law.) My Lords, will a dying man be denied the legal privilege of exculpating himself, in the eyes of the community, of an unde- served reproach thrown upon him during the trial by charging him with ambition, and attempting to cast away, for a paltry consideration, the liberties of his country? Why did your Lordship insult me ? or rather, why insult justice, in demanding of me why sentence of death should not be pronounced against me? I know, my Lord, that form prescribes that you should ask the question — the form also implies the right of answering. This, no doub f , may be dispensed with, and so might the whole ceremony of the trial, since sentence was alreadj r pronounced at the Castle, before your jury was empannellcd. Yonr Lordships are but the priests of the Oracle, and I submit — but I insist on the whole of the forms. (Here Mr. Emmet paused, and the Court desired him to pro- ceed.) I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emis- sary of France ! and for what end ? It is alleged that I wish to sell the independence of my country ! and for what end ? Was this the object of my ambition ? and is this the mode by which [41 ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH.— [Coxuxuei* i tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions? No I I am no emissary ; and my ambition was to hold a place among the deliv- erers of my country— not in power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. "Sell my country's independence to Franca ! and for what? Was it for a change of masters? No, but for ambition ! Oh, my country ! was it pergonal ambitim that could influence me ? Had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my education and fortune -by the rank and considera- tion of my family, have placed myself amongst the proudest of my country's oppressors ? My country was my idol ; to it I sac- rificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment — and for it I now offer up my life. Oh, God ! No ! my Lord: I acted as an Irish- man, determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, which is its joint partner and perpetrator in the parricide, for the ignominy of existing with an exterior of splendor and a conscious depravity ; it was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this doubly-riveted despotism* I wished to place her independence bayond the reach of any power on earth — I wished to exalt her to that proud station in the world* Connection with France was, indeed, intended — but only as far as mutual interest would sanction or require. Were they to assume any authority inconsistent with the purest independence, It would be the signal for their destruction ; we sought md, and we sought it as we had assurance we should obtain it — as auxili- aries in war, and allies in peace. Were the French to come as invaders or enemies uninvited by the wishes of the people, I should oppose them to the utmost of my strength. . Yes, my countrymen, I would meet them on the beach, with a sword in one hand, and a torch in the other ; I would meet them with all the destructive fury of Avar, and 1 would animate my countrymen to immolate them in their boats, before they had contaminated the soil of my country. If they succeeded in landing, and if forced to retire before superior dis- cipline, I would dispute every inch of ground, burn every blade of grass before them, and the last entrenchment of liberty should m ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH.— (Conttcuxd, be ray grave. What I could Dot do myself, if I should fall, 1 would leave as a last charge to my countrymen to accomplish, because I should f*el conscious that life, anymore than death, is profitable ^hen a foreign nation holds my country in subjection. But it was not as an enemy that the succors of France were to land. I looked, indeed for the assistance of France; but I wished to prove to France and to all the world, that Irishmen deserved to be assisted ; that they were indignant at slavery, and ready to assert the independence and liberty of their country. I m ished to procure for my country the guarantee which "Washington procured for America. To proenre an aid which, by its example, would be as important as its valor — disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science and experience, who would pre- serve the good, and polish the rough points of our character ; they would come to us as strangers and leave us as friends, after sharing our perils and elevating out destiny. These were my objects — not to receive new task makers, but to expel old tyrants; these were my views, and these unly became Irishmen. It was for these ends I sought aid from France, for France, even as an enemy, could not be more implacable than the enemy alrea .y in the bosom of my country. (Here he was interrupted by the Court.) I have been charged with that importance in the efforts to emancipate my country, as to be considered the keystone of the combination of Irishmen, or as your lordship expressed it "the life and blood of the conspiracy." You do me honor over much you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are engaged in this conspiracy, who are not only superior to me r but even to your own conception of yourself, my Lord, before the splendor of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who would think themselves dishonored to be called your friend, and who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand, (Here he was again interrupted.) ROBERT EMMET'S SPEECH.- [Coxtinued. What, my Lord ! shall you tell me on the passage to that scaffold, which that tyranny (of which you are only- the inter- mediary executioner) has erected for my murder, that I am ac- countable for all the blood that has an 1 will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor— shall you tell me this, and shall I be so very a slave as not to repel it ? I do not fear to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole life, and am I to be appalled and falsified by a mere remnant of mortality here ! By you, too, who, if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that yon have caused to be she.l in your unhallowed ministry, into one great reservoir, your Lordship might swim in it. (Here the judge interfered.) Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis- honor. Let no man attaint my memory, by believing that I could have engaged in any cause but of my country, liberty and independence, or that I became the pliant minion of power, in the oppression or the miseries of my countrymen. The pro- clamation of the Provisional Government speaks for our views, no in r erence can be tortured from it to countenance barbarity or debasement at home or subjection, humiliation, or treachery from abroad ; I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the present domestic op- pressor, in the dignity of freedom, I would have fought on the threshold of my country, and its enemy should only enter by passing over my lifeless corpse And am I, who lived but for my coun.ry, an 1 who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights and my country her in- dependence — am I to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent or repel it ? No, God forbid ! (Mere Lord Norbury told Mr. Emmet that his senti i.nnts nnd language disgraced his family and education, but more particu- larly his father, Dr. Emmet, who was a man, if alive, that would not countenance such opinions.) If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and cares of those who are dear to them in this transitory life — O, ever dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look m 10 BOBEST EMMET'S SPEECH.— (Concluded. down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering sou, and 6eo if I have, ever for a moment, deviated from those principles of morality and patriotism which it was your care to instil into my youthful mind, and for which I am now to offer up my life. My Lord, you are impatient for the sacrifice — the blood which you seek is not concealed by the artificial terrors that sur- round your victim; it circulates warmly and unruffled through the channels which God created for a nobler purpose, but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous that they crv to heaven ! Be ye patient ! 1 have but a few more words to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave : my lamp of life is nearly extinguished : my race is run : the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom ! I have but one request to ask at my departure from this v/orld ; it is the charitj- of its silence ! Let no man writ* my epitaph, for as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uniiiscribed, until other times, and other men can do justice to my character. When my country talas her place among the nations of the earth — then and not tilJ then — let my epitaph be written. 1 have pone. One day, previous to Eaimet's trial, as tlio governor was going his rounds, he entered Eniniet's room rather abruptly, and observing a remarkable expression in bis countenance, be apologized for the in- terruption. He bad a fork tixed to bis little deal table and appended to it there was a tress of bair, " You see." said be to the keeper, '• how iunoeeutly I have been occupied ; this little tress bas long been dear to me, and I am plaiting it to wear in my bosom on the day of my ex- ecution." On tbe day of that fatal event, there was found, sketched by bis own band with a pen and ink. upon that very table, an admi- rable likeness of himself, tbe head severed from the body which lay near it, surrounded by the-^caffoid, the axe and all the pharapherna- lia of a high treason execution. "What a strange union of tendernes-s, enthusiasm and fortitude, do not the above traits of charaeter exhib- it ! His fortitude, indeed, never forsook him ; on the night previous to h s death, be slept as soundly as ever : and when the fatal morning dawned, he arose, knelt down and prayed, ordered some milk, which hu drank, wrote two letters, and then desired the sheriffs to he in- formed that he was ready. When they came to his room, h said bo bad two requests to make : one that his arms might he left as loose as possible, which was humunely acceded to ' I make the other," said he, "not under any idea that it can be granted, but that it may be held in remembrance that I have made it ; it is, that I may be per- mitted to die in my green uniform." This, of course, was not allowed him — and the request seemed to have no other object than to show that he gloried in the cause for which he had to suffer. f8] 11 EHLMETTS DEATH. "He dies to-day," said the heartless judge, Whilst he sat him down to the feast, And a smile was npon his ashy lip As he uttered a ribald jesl ; For a demon dwelt were his heart should be, That lived upon blood and sin, And olt as that vile judge gave him food, The demon throbbed within. " He dies to-c'ay," said the gaoler grim, Whilst a tear was in his eye, " But why should I feel so grieved for Awn / Sure, I've seen many die 1 Last night I went to his stony cell, With the scanty prison fare — He was sitting at a table rude, Plaiting a lock cf hair ! And he look'd so mild, with his pale, pale face, And he spoke in so kind a way, That my old breast heavM with a smothering feel.' And I knew not what to say !" " He dies to-day ," thought a fair, sweet girl — She lacked the life to speak, For sorrow had almost frozen her blood, And white were her lip and cheek — Despair had drank up her last wild tear, And her brow was damp and chill, ' And they often telt at her heart with fear, For its ebb was all but still. 12 EMMETS GRAVE. Alii :— -" Wolfe Tone's Grave." " Pray, tell me," I said, to an old man who staid, Drooping over the graves which his own hands had made, "Pray, tell me the name of tlie tenant that sleeps 'Neath yonder lone shade, where tho sad willow weeps 7 Every stone is engraved with tho name of the dead, But yon black slab declares not whose spirit iafled !" In silenco he bowed, and then beckoned me nigh, 'Till we stood o'er tho grave — then ho said with a sigh, " Yes, the}' daro not to traco e'en a word on this stone, To tho memory of him who sleeps coldly and lono; He told them, commanded, tho lines o'er his grave, Should never be traced by the hand of a slave ! •'He bade them to shade e'en his name in the gloom, Till the morning of freedom should shine on his tomb, 1 When the flag of my country at liberty flies, Then, then, let my name and my monument rise !* You see they obeyed him— 'tis sixty-ono years, And they still come to moisten his grave with their tears ! "He was young, like yourself, and aspired to o'erthrow The tyrants, who filled his loved island with woe ; They crushed him— this earth was too base, too confined, Too gross for tho range of his luminous mind," — Tho old man then paused, and went slowty away, And I felt, as he left me, an impulse to pray : — " Grant, Heaven ! I may see. ere my own days are done, A monument rise o'er my country's lost son! And oh ! proudest in*];, be it mine to indite, The long delayed tribute a freeman must write ; Till then shall its theme in my heart deeply dwell, So peace to thy slumber* !— dear Emmet, farewell ! ^SONG OF THE IRISH-AMERICAN BRIGADE. Sung on St. Patrick's Day, IS63. We've never swerved from our old green flag Upborne o'er many a bloody plain ; Tis now a torn and tattered rag. But we will bear it proudly oft again. We'll raise it high, this dear old flag, From T;iffey's banks to Shannon's stream, Till victory o'er the pirate rag Upon our sacred cause shall beam. CHORUS. Hurrah! hurrah! for our dear old flag, Hurrah for our gallant leader too ; Though 'tis a torn and tattered rag. We would not change it lor the new. We've borne it with the Stripes and Stars, From Fair Oaks to Frederick's bloody plain ; And sec, my boys, our wounds and scars Can tell how well we did the same. But sure, our chieftain, of his race Was ever foremost 'mid the brave, Where death met heroes face to face, And gathered harvests for the grave. Hurrah ! hurrah ! &c. We miss full many a comrade's smile, The grasp of many a friendly hand, We mourn their loss, and grieve the while, They had not died for fatherland. But o'er their lresh and gory graves — We swear it now, and evermore — To free green Erin, land of slaves, And banish tyrants from her shore. Hurrah ! hurrah ! Now we're pledged to free this land, So long the exile's resting-place; To crush for aye a traitorous band, And wipe out treason's deep disgrace, Then let us pledge Columbia's cause, God prosper poor old Ireland too ! We'll trample on all tyrant laws: Hurrah for the old land and the new. Hurrah! hurrah ! &c. n THE HOUR THAT GOES BEFORE THE DAWN'S THE DARKEST HOUil OF NIGHT. By James O'Bitisx. Am: — " Wearing of the Green." The gloom of seven centuries is hanging lileo a pall O'er tlio hearts of true and stalwart men. in Irish hnt and hall ; But leinomher when the Tempest has liis blackest flag unfurled, A radiant sun is nearest, to illnme a darkened woild ! Then arouse, Old Land, take coinage, keep this motto e'er in sight, The hour that goes before the dawn's the darkest hour of night ! (Repeat two last lines.) "When the love that thrills the gentle babe, forgets the mother's breast, And when the sailor, etorm-tossed, avoids a port of rest. When the captive on the galley chained, refuses to be free Then, Erin, of the Withered Brow, will we prove false to thee. We'll not forget, when fortune frowns, and menaces the right, The hour that goes before the dawn's the darkest hour of night 1 (Repeat two last lines. ) God bles ed Owen Roe's Green Banner, when ho smote Queen Bess's men, And He'll bless, when we assail the foe, that proud old Flag ngain ! The law may call us tuaitous can banish us and kill. The bolt, that strikes the Fenian down can't reach old Ireland's Will; Then remember, when tho battle's smoko conceals the foo from sight. The hour that goes before the dawn's tho darkest hour of night! (Repeat two last lines.) Tho Saxon hordes may char our homos, and crimson Shannon's flood, A nobler train of peerless men shall spring from martyr's blood ! Be but prepared, and watch your chance, lor chances 'come and go, And when your master least expects, then strike him homo the blow ! Tho gloom of death your vengeance spreads, shall prove thelegeud right, Tho hour that goes before tho dawn's the darkest hour of night ! (Repeat two last lines.) To-moi row's work which must be done, should well be learne . to- day, For they who fight, when unprepared, but barter life away : When the troops are drilled, and fortune smiles, march 'neaili this ■torn decree, OnrFla-r we'll lower, on sea or shore to none, Great God. but Thee! Then shoulder arms, brothers all. f >r£et not hi the fight. The hour that goes before the dawn's tho darker hour of n)ght ! (Rrpccit two Ln,t lines j % 15 TIPPERARY BECRUITING SONG. Street Ballad. 'Tis now we VI want to be wary, boy?, The recruiters are out in Tipperary, boys ; If they offer a glass, we'll wink as we pass — We're oukl birds for chaff in Tipperary, boys. Then hurrah for the gallant Tipperary boys, All/hough we're " cross and contraiiy," lH)ys', The never a own will handle a gup. Except for the Green and Tipperary, boys. Now mind what John Bull did here, my boys, Jn the days ot our famine and fear, my boys ; He burned and sacked, he plundered and racked Ould Ireland of Irish to clear, my boys. Now Bull wauls to pillage and rob, my boys, And put the proceeds in his lob, my boys ; But let each Irish just stick to his trade, And let Bull do his own dirty job, my boys. So never to 'list be in haste, my boys, Or a glass of drugged whiskey lo laste, my boys ; If to India you'll go, 'tis to grief and to woe, And to rot and to die like a beast, my boys. But now he is beat for, men, my boys, Mis arms is getting so thin, my boys. With the fever and ague, the sword and the plague, Oh ; the devil a fear that he'll win, my boys. Then mind not the robbing ould schemer, boys, Tho' he says that lie's richer tlmn Darner, boys ? Tho' he bully and roar, his power is o'er. And his black heart will shortly be tamer, boys. Now isn't Bull peaceful and civil, boys, In his mortal distress and his evil, boys? But we'U cock each eaubeen when his sergeants are seen, And we'll tell them then to go to the devil, boys. Then hurrah for the gallant Tipperary, boys I Altho' we're cross and contrairy, boys, The never a one will handle a jrun. Except for the Green and Tipperary, boys. 16 9 FORM, BOYS, FORM. By AUTHUK M. FOUUF.STKiL Song of the Robels of 1798, or any other date. Aiu:— " The Wbite Cockade." OI», who would live as crouching slaves, When they might sleep in freemen's graves, Oh, who to alien yoke would bend, When battles' shock, that yoke might end ? Come, form, boys, form! 'twere better rest In mother Erin's sheltering breast ; Than live to be, like serfs, oppress'd Willi countless wrongs all unredressed. Too long weVe wept — our sighs and tears But met with laughter* scofls, and jeers ; Our prayers were spurned, and tyrant lords Forbade our hopes, and banned our cause. But form, boys, form! we'll crouch no more, Our servile sleep, thank God I is o'er, And soldiers now in freedom's corps, We stand to guard our native shore ! Though cowards still in slavery whine, And traitors 'gainst the right combine; And hell scarce heat enough contains To punish those whoM break our chains. Still form, boys, form 1 not earth nor hell With all its demons, foul and fell, Our burning hopes and hearts can quell. Or keep us bound in thraldon\'s spell. n FORM, BOYS, FORM.— [CONCLUDED. The sabre's law alone we teach, The bayonet's creed alone we preach, For there's a logic in cold steel That bigot foes can ever feel. So form, bo}'s, form ! in freedom's ranks. From Antrim's cliffs to Shannon's banks, And guerdoned by a nation's thanks, Stand forth like men in firm phalanx. Come one, come all, our Saxon loe In crushing us no clan doth know, All, all, alike, have known his frown, All. all, alike, must strike him down ! So form, boys, form! from cliff and crag Fling tor til once more the old Green Flag, And down to earth forever drag The hated tyrant's crimson rag. Then form, boys, form ! in bold brigade, With rifle bright and glinting blade; Whilst one remains the sword to wield To alien rule we'll never yield ! Quick! form, boys, form ! this hour, this day, Defeat attends upon delay, A single moment's faltering may Decide the bloodiest battle fray ! .[21 18 THE BOYS THAT WEAR THE GREEN. Aik :— "The Wearing of the Greeu." The cheering news has crossed the seas— it fills our soul* with joy — The croppy boys are in the field repeating "Fontenoy.* With the good old pike and sabre, to the rifle's ringing tune, They're slashing down the red-coals—" 'tis the rising o! the Moon " — Thecampfiresonthe hills are lit, the "sunburst" is unfurled, And 'gainst the bloodstained pirate rag, their bold defiance hurled ; Right gallantly they meet the toe wherever he is seen, For Ireland, and for liberty — the Boys that wear the Green. They're mustering in silence 'mong the wilds of Inuis- howen ; And the Limerick boys are coming too, a-liltingGarryowen; Like the wintry blast careering o'er the heights of Sliev- enamon, The men of Tipperary are madly rushing on. From Gorey to Berehaven's shore is heard the wild hurra That made the Saxou columns reel in many a blooly fray; Old Tara's hills have caught the shout, and the Galtees too, I ween — Then good luck to poor old Ireland and the boys that wear Green. Those rebels to the British rule are "Paddies evermore,' And freely on the battle-field their hearts' libations pour. [i] 19 THE BOYS THAT WEAR THE GREEtf. [Concluded Now Johnny Bull may quake with fear, revenge has come at last For his butcheries at Wexford, and the Rath of Mullagh- mast. They've caught the fire of dauntless Tone, the spirit of Red Hugh, And soon our old decrepit foe his countless crimes can rue. Throughout the land in solemn mass the dazzling sight is seen, Old Ireland up for Freedom, with the Boys that wear the Green. Her dear old voice is heard again, in thunder tones it speaks From old Ben Redar's stormy heights, and Kerry's lofty Reeks ; The South is up, the West's awake, and from the glorious North, As torrents sweep the mountain's side, her sons are coming forth — Right down upon the English ranks, in serried lines they dash ; While cannons roar, and rifles crack, and pikes with bayo- nets clash Then hurra for human freedom, and our darling Ocean Queen, And God bless Old Ireland's stalwart sons— the Boys that wear the Green. ro 20 THE MUSTER. A Song 01 Ninety-Eight. By Doire. From Howfch r.way to famed Dunboy, By Kerry's beetling coasts, "With lightning speed to summons flow To marshal Freedom's hosts; From Limerick's old, historic walls To Boy ne's ill-omened tide. The long-watched signal swelled tho hearts, "With veugcauce, hope, and pride. "We ask. in rain, tho right to live Herein our Native Land — The robber hordes oppress ns more, And mock our just demand : Our sense of manhood must be dead, Our hearts turned into stone — That we thus crouch, while hearths and fanes Are round in ruins strown. Then fling out tho Emerald Banner, Let the Orient kiss its hue, Beneath its fold we'll take our stand, To Erin, firm and true. The viper foes that wrought our woes, We'll meet them now with steel. And may tho hands be shrivelled up That blow for blow wou't deal. Hurrah ! God wills tho time at last, Our galling chains to brer.k, And in the cruel tyrant's blood Our thirsting swords to slake- Just heaven ! endow our arms with might, To strike down tyranny, And make the land wo love so dear A Nation — great and free. They're mnst'ring fast, see Slievcnamon Its serried lines displays Mark how their burnished weapons gleam In morning's ruddy blaze: And proudly waves the flashing green. Where purl Maig and Lee — Hurrah! my boys, we've lived, thank God, To make our Irelaud free. "We've sworn fealty to that cause Our martyrs sanctified ; To guard the Flag above our heads, We pledge our hearts' red tide. No more as craven slave* we'll bend To despot kins or queen, God shield tho Bight— strike sure and fast, "lis for our Native Green. 21 RECRUITING SONG OF THE IRISH BRIGADE. By Mauricf. O'Connell, M. P. Air:— 4 ' The White Cockade." Is there a youthful gallant here On fire for lame— unknowing fear — Who in the charge's mad career On Erin's foes would flesh his spear ? CHORUS. Come, let him wear the white Cockade, And learn the soldier's glorious trade, 'Tis of such stuff a hero's made, Then let him join the Bold Brigade, Who scorns to own a Saxon Lord, And toil to swell a stranger's hoard? Who for rude blow or gibing word Would answer with the Freeman's sword? Come, let him wear, &c. Does Erin's foully slandered name Suffuse thy cheek with generous shame — Wouldst right her wrongs— restore her fame? Come, then, the soldiers weapon claim — Come, let him wear, Ac. Come, free from bonds your lather's faith, Redeem its shrines irom scorn and scathe, The hero's fame, the Martyr's wreath, Will gild your life or crown your death. Come, Jet him wear, &c. To drain the cup — with girls to toy, The serf's vile soul with bliss may cloy; But wouldst thou taste a manly joy : — Oh! it was ours at Fontenoy ! Come, let him wear, &c. To many a fight thy fathers led, Full many a Saxon's life-blood shed; From thee, as yet, no foe has fled — Thou wilt not shame the glorious dead? Come, let him wear, &c. Oh ! come, for slavery, want, and shame, We offer vengeance, freedom fame. With Monarch*, comrade rank to claim, And, nobler still, the Patriot's name. Come, let him wear, &c* 22 THE 6TOEEN FLAG. A. D. 1647. By M. J. Barrt. Boys, fill your glasses, Each hour that passes Steals, it may be, on our last night's cheer. The da}' soon shall come, boys, With fife and drum, boys, Breaking shrilly on the soldiers ear. Drink the faithful hearts that love us — 'Mid to-morrow's thickest fight, While our green flag floats above us, Think, boys, 'tis for them we smite, Down with each mean flag, None but the green flag Shall in triumph be above us seen : Oh ! think on its glory, Charge for Eire and her Flag of Green 1 Long shrined in story. Think on old Brian, War's mighty lion, 'Neath that banner 'twas he smote the Dane. The Northman and Saxon Oft tinned their backs on Those who bore it o'er each crimson'd plain. Beal-an-atha-Bnidhe beheld it BagenaPs fiery onset curb 23 THE GREEN FLAG.— [Concluded. Scotch Munroe would lain have feli'd it, We, boys, followed him from red Beinburb. Down with each mean flag, ft one but the green flag Shall above us be in triumph seen : Oh! think of its glory, Long shrined in story, Charge with Eoghan for our Flag of Green ! And if at eve, boys, Comrades shall grieve, boys, O'er our corses, let it be with pride. When thinking that each, boys, On that red beach, boys, Lies the flood-marks of the battle's tide. See — the first faint ray of morning Gilds the east with yellow light: Hark ! the bugle notes give warning One lull bumper to old friends to-night- Down with each mean flag, None but the green flag Shall above us be in triumph seen: Oh! think on its glory, Long shrined in story, Fall or conquer for our Flag of Green ! [21 54 WE'VE A THOUSAND GEN. CORCOKANS TO LEAD US IN THE STRIFE. Alic: — " The Wearing of the Groea." Oh! England, in her lofty pride in boasting often raves, As once before, she boasted that "Eiitauniu ruled tho waves," But there was a young republic — America by name, Who on the mighty ocean, soon this boasting chap did tame ; For there, In each encounter, the Eagle took the prize. And flogged the Lion o'er and o'er, which filled liiui with surprise. Then cease your silly bragging, for your prestigo has decayed, And of oppressed Old Ireland you daily are afraid. CHORUS. For know the sons of Ireland mean war unto the knife, We've a thousand General Corcoraus to lead us in the strife. That noble son of Ireland, he scorned the tyrant's rule, For never a true Irishman, would stoop to be a lool ; He left his native country, and battled lor the right, And like a gallant Irishman, he perished in the fight. A tear unto his memory, dear Erin's noble son, We'll raise a monument to him, when freedom has been won ; Then here's to General Corcoran, the bravest of Ihebri.ve, Who shed his blood, and gave his life, a country for to save. He's sleeping in a soldier's grave — a sword no more h#*1l wield, But we've a thousand more like him, to lead us in the field. For know, the sons of Ireland, mean war unto the knife, We've a thousand General Corcoraus to lead us In tho strife. 25 THE PATRIOT BRAVE. I3y R. D. Williams. I drink (o the valiant who combat For freedom by mountain or wave, And may triumph attend, like a shadow, The swords of the patriot brave I Oh ! never was holier chalice Than this at our festivals crown'd Tli :; heroes of Morven, to pledge it, And gods of Valhalla 11 oat round. Hurrah, for the patriot brave I A health to the patriot brave — And a curse and a blow l>e to liberty's foe, Whether tyrant, or coward, or knave. Great spirits who battled in old time For the freedom of Athens, descend ! As low to the shadow of Brian In fond hero-worship we bend. From those that in far Alpine passes Saw Dnithi struck down in his mail, To the last of our chiefs' gal log h lasses, The saflrou-clad foes of the Pale. Let us drink to the patriot brave — Hurrah lor the patriot brave ! But a curse and a blow be to liberty's foe, And more chains for the satisfied .slave. Oh. Liberty ! hearts that adore thee Pour of their best blood at thy shrine, As freely as gushes before thee This purple libation of wine. For us, whether destined to triumph Or bleed as Leonidas bled, Crushed down by a lorest of lances, On mountains of foreigner dead, May we sleep with the patriot brave ! God prosper the patriot brave ! But may battle and woe huny liberty's foe To a bloody and honorless grave ! 26 GOD BLESS THE GREEN FOREVER. By T. O'D. O'Callaghan. Air :— " The "Wearing of the Green." God bless (be Green forever, Through the Cycle of the years! Though dimmed its shecuy splendor is And stained with blood and tears; *Tis the banner of dear Ireland— The flag our fathers bore. When the Roman foe from sireland They chased in days of yore. God bless the Green forever 1 When brave Daithi led his men To victory -mid Alpine snows, They proudly bore it then ; And when be sank a corpse before The lightning's fiery breath, They wrapped him in that banner, For he loved it unto death- And later still, how proud it waved On Clontarl's bloody plain, When Brian smote the Danish horde, And burst, the pirate chains; And when Malachi, the Valiant, flung That banner on the breeze, The robber Northman reeled and fled In terror o'er the seas. Once more how gloriously it streamed O'er LuimneocK s battle-towers, When Sarsfield slew the Saxon host. And Limerick was ours: Ere o'er the main the u Wild Geese v flew, Far, far from land and all, To turn the scale on foreign fields, And curse the Saxon thrall. Again in days more nigh our own. At Fontenoy 'twas spread, Where high in Heaven's light it waved Or England's blood-stained Red; 27 GOD BLESS THE GREEN EOREVER. [Concluded. Dhar dhia / it was a glorious sight — That cursed rag to see Sink down before Old Ireland's Green t And France's Fleur-de-lis! And oh ! how thrilling 'twas to hear Their clear ring out amain, When rushing on the Briisth ranks, O'er trampled heaps of slain ; All honor to those exiles brave, May their menory never die, Who bore the Green to victory That day at Fontenoy. Hurah ! the Green forever ! Let it echo, let it roll, Till the clarion call of freedom Ring again from pole to pole, And Erin calls her exiles From the far land o'er the main To strike once more for native Right- To beard the toe again. God bless the Green forever! 'Tib the flag of Ninety-eight — The flag McIIugh O' Byrne bore To Dublin's Castle-gate; Tis the banner of the Geraldines — Of O'Donnell— of O'Neill— Of martyred Emmet, Bourke, and Tone, True chief tains of the Gael. That flag defile ? Oh ! never ; Through victory and defeat To the honor of that banner old Our liws we consecrate. The Fenian men have sworn — And our vows are not in vain — To raise the Green full high again On mountain, tower and plain. pj 28 DIED FOR THE GREEN— ELLEN HIGGINS. She died for the Green ! ere the rosebud Of childhood had fled from her cheek — £re the heart that had loved Erin's emblem, That love in its fulness could speak; She died for the Green ! by the angels Borne up from ihc dull English earth She was crowned with the smile of ot, Brigid, And awoke to a heavenly birth. Oh, cold is the dark English city, No su it light enlivens the street, And the false, cheerless eye ot the Saxon At each winding and turning you meet; Oh, Heavens! it once back in Ireland, To rest in its smile for a day — Alas! from the smoke to the sunshine, We send forth the children to play. So out from the choke and the darkness, Three child-maidens merrily went, To see what, the bright sun was doing — To see what the summer had sent; Ami they wore in iluir hats the Green ribbon, For love of the far away land — For love of the homestead forsaken. The mountain, the valley, and strand. And they smiled when they saw the dear sunshine, In Ireland it shines brighter still — "How pleasant it danced, Kate and Mary, In the river by Carrawe's Mill;" So they caroled along, dreaming strangely Of beauty on Ireland's shore. When the cubs of the Saxon dam marked them, With their throats thirsting madly for gore. No— never the Green would they lower, And two fly away like the wind ; But the stroke ot tne slayer has smitten The truest ami bravest behind; With the Green in her hat she has fallen, No foul hand shall sully its hue — Oh! would that the strong men of Ireland, Were, as young Ellen liiggins, as true. She died for the Green ! all is over — The last martyr gone to tin; clay — With a feeling ot sadness and vengeance We sing the proud story to-day. Oh ! mothers of Ireland, when bending Above your young darlings with pride, Remember how deep in black England For the Green this brave child-exile died. 29 THE IRISH- AMERICAN. Columbia the free is the land of my birth, And my paths liave been nil on American earth ; But my blood i.s as Irish as any can be, And my heart is with Erin alar o'er ihe sea. My father, and mother, and friends all a.iound, Are dans ters and sons of the sainted old ground — Thoy rambled its iide of green Erin alar o'er the sea. If I were in beautiful Dublin to-day. To the spots I hold sacred I'd soon find my way, For I know where O'Connell and Curran are laid. And where loved Robert Emmet bleeps cold "in the shade." And if 1 were in Wexford — how fondly I'd trace Each field L have inarUed on ray maps ot the place. Where the brave Ninety-Eight men poured hotly and free Tueir blood for dear Erin afar o'er the sea. Dear home of my fathers ! I'd hold tbec* to blame, And my cheeks would at times take the crimson of shame, Did thv sad tale not show, in each Sorrow-stained line, That the might of thy tyrant was greater than thin©. But her soldiers are many, abroad and at home, Her ships ou all oceans are ploughing the foam. And her wealth is untold — sure no equal was she For my poor plundered Erin afar o'er the sea. Yet they tell mo the strife is not yet given o'er — That the gal'ant old Island will try it onee more; And will call, with her harp, when her flair is unfurl'd, Her sons, and their sons, from the ends of the world. If so, I've a rifle, that's true to a hair, A brain that can plan and a hand that can dare; And the summons will scarce liave died out, when I'll be 'Mid the green fields of Erin afar o'er the sea. 30 ORIGINAL H THE WEARING OF THE GREEN. STREET BALLAD— 1708. I'm a lad that's forced nn exile From my own unlive hind. For an oath that's passed against me In tnis country 1 can t stand, But wnile I'm at my liberty, I will make my escape ; I'm a poor distressed eroi For the Green on my cape I For the Green on my cape! For the Green on my cape] I'm distressed — but not disheartened — For the Green on my cape ! But I'll go down to Belfast To see that se:iporr gay, And tell my aged parents in this country I can't stay. O, 'tis dark will be their sorrow — But no truer hearts I've seen, And they'd lather see me dying Than a traitor lo the Green! O, the wearing ot the Green! O, the wealing of the Green! May the curse of Cromwell darken Each traitor to the Green ! AY hen I went down to Belfast, And saw that seaport grand, My aged parents blessed me, And blessed pooi li eland. Then I went unto a captain, And bargained with him cheap — He told inc that his whole ships crew Wore Green on the cape! O, the Green on the cape ! O, the Green on the cape I God's blessing guard the noble bo} s Willi the Green on the cape! Twas earl\- the next morning Our gallant ship set sail ; Kind Heaven did protect her Willi a pleasant Irish gale. We landed safe In Paris, Where victualling was cheap — [ij 31 WEARING OF THE GREEN.— [Concluded. They knew we were United, We wore Green on the cape! We wore Green on the cape ! We wore Green on the cape I They treated ns like brothers, For the Green on the cape I Then forward stepped young Boney, And took me by the hand, Saying — ll How is old Ireland, And how does she stand ?"* "It's as poor distressed a nation As ever you have seen, They are hanging men and women, For the wearing of the Green ! For the wearing ot the Green ! For the wearing of the Green ! They are hanging men, and women, too. For wearing of the Green !" Take courage now, my brave boys, For here you have good friends, And we'll send a convoy with you Down by their Orange dens ; And if they should oppose us. With our weapons sharp and keen, We 7 ll make them rue and curse the day That e'er they saw the Green ! That e'er they saw the Green ! That e'er they saw the Green ! We'll show them our authority For wearing of the Green ! O may the wind of Freedom Soon send young Boney o'er, And we'll plant the Tree of Liberty Upon our Shamrock shore. O, we'll plant it with our weapons, While the English tyrants gape, To see their bloody flag torn down To Green on the cape! O, the wearing the Green ! O, the wearing the Green ! God grant us soon to see that day, And freely wear the Green ! * Precisely the same question was addressed io John Mitchel by a distinguished French General, on the occa- sion of a sword of honor being presented to Marshal M'Mahon. 32 STAND TOGETHER. Stand together, brothers all J Stand together, stand together ! To live or die, to rise or fall, Stand together, stand together! Old Erin prou lly lilts her head — Of many tears this last is shed ; Oh \for the living — by the dead ! Stand together, true together 1 Stand together, brothers all ! Close t gether, close together! Be Ireland's might a brazen wall— Close up together, tight together 1 Peace I no noise ! — but hand in hand Let calm resolve pervade your band, And wait — till nature's God command — Then help each other, help each other 1 Stand together, brothers all ! Proud together — bold together ! From Kerry's cliffs to Donegal, Boun-1 in heart and soul together 1 Ur.rol the Sunburst ! who'll defend Old 1 rin's banner is a friend — One foe is ours— oh ! blend, boys, blend Hands together — hearts together 1 Stand together, brothers all ! AVait together, waich together 1 Sec. America ana liuui Look on together, be th together ! Keen impatience in each eye — Yet on " ourselves," do we rely — " Ourselves alone" our rallying cry I And " stand together, strike together 1" THE BATTLE EVE OF THE BBIGADE. The mess-tent i3 full, and the glasses are set, And the gallant Count Thomaud is president yet, The vet'ran arose, like an uplifted lance, Crying— if Comrades, a health to the mo arch of France ! With bumpers and cheers they have done as he bade, For King Louis is lov'd by the Irish Brigade. '< A health to King James," and they bent as they quaffd, " Here's to George the Elector" and fiercely they laugh'd. "Good luck to the girls we woo'd long ago, Where Shannon, and Barrow, and Blackwater flow ;" " God prosper Old Ireland/' you'd think them afraid, So pale grew the chiefs of the Irish Brigade. " But surely that light cannot come from our lamp ? And that noise— are they a# getting drunk in the camp?' 1 "Hurrah ! boys, the morning of battle is come, And the generates beating on many a drum." So they rush from the revel to join the parade, For the van is the right ol the Irish Brigade. They fought os they revell'd, fast, fiery, and true, And, though victors, they left on the field not a few ; And they who survival, fought and drank as of 3 r ore, But the land of their heart's hope they never saw more, For in far foreign fields, from Dunkirk to Belgrade, Lie the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade. 34 THE MEN OF TIPPERARY. Let Britain boast her British hosts, About them little care we ; Not British seas nor British coasts Can match the man of Tipperary. Tall in his form, his heart is warm, His spirit light as any (airy — His wrath is fearful as the storm. That sweeps the Hills of Tipperary. Lead him to light for native land, His is no courage cold and wary ; The troops live not on eaith would stand The headlong charge of Tipperary. Yet meet him in li is cabin rude, Or dancing with his dark-hair'd Mary, You'd swear they knew no other mood, But mirth and love in Tipperary. You're free to share his scanty meal, His plighted word he'll never vary — In vain they tried with gold and steel, To shake the faith of Tipperary. Soft is his cuiliris sunny e3 r e, Her mien is mild, her step is airy, Her heart is fond, her soul is high — Oh ! she's the pride of Tipperary. Let Britian, too, her banner brag, We'll lift the Green more proud and airy; Be mine the lot to bear that flag, And head the men of Tipperary. Though Britain boasts her British hosts, About them all right little care we — Give us to guard our native coasts, The matchless men of Tipperary. 35 SONG OF THE VOLUNTEERS OF 1782. Hurrah! 'tis done— our freedom's won — Hurrah for the volunteers! No laws we own, but those alone, Oi our Commons, King, and Peers. The chain is broke — the Saxon yoke, From off our neck is taken ; Ireland awoke — Dungannon spoke, With iear was E igland shaken. When Grattan rose, none tlar\t oppose, The claim he made for freedom ; They knew our swords to back his words, Were ready did he need them. Then let us raise to Gratfan's praise, A proud and joyous anthem ; And weahh, and grace, and length of days May God in mercy grant him. Bless Harry Flood, who nobly stood By us, through gloomy years, Bless Charlemont, the brave and good, The ehiel of the volunteers. The North began ; the North held on The strife for native land ; Till Ireland rose, and cow'd her foes — God bless the Northern land. And bless the men of patriot pen — Swift, Molyneux, and Lucas ; Bless sword and gun, which * Free Trade*' won— Bless God ! who ne'er lorsook us. And long may last, the friendship fast, Which binds us all together; While we agree, our foes shall flee Like clouds in stormy weather. Remember still, through good and ill, How vain were prayers and tears — How vain were words, till flashed the swords, Of the Irish volunteers. By arms we've got the rights we sought, Through long and wretched years — Hurrah ! 'tis done, our freedom s won — Hurrah for the volunteers I 36 THE BOYS OF W1XFORD, In comes the captain's daughter, The captain of the Yeo.«, Saying, " Brave United man, We'll ne'er again betfocs. A thousand pounds 1*11 give you, And fly from home with thee, And dress myself in man's attire, And fight for libertie !" CHORUS. We are the boys of Wexford, Who fought with heart and hand To burst in twain the galling chain, And free our native land ! And when we left our cabins, boys, We left with right good will, To see our friends and neighbors That were at Vinegar Hill ! A young man from our ranks, A cannon he let go ; He slapt it into Lord Mountjoy— A tyrant he laid low ! We are the boys of Wexford, Who fought with heart and hand To burst in twain the galling chain. Ami free our native land ! We bravely fought and conquered At Ross, and Wexford town ; And, it we failed to keep them, 'Twas drink that brought us down. We had no drink beside us On Tubber'neerings day, Depending on the long bright pike, [i] si THE BOYS OF WEXFORD.- [CONCLUDED, And well it worked its way ! We are the boys of Wexford, Who fought with heart and hand To burst in twain the galling chain, And free our native land ! They came into the country Our blood to waste and spill ; But let them weep for Wexford, And think of Oulart Hill 1 'Twas drink that still betrayed us — Of ihem we had no fear; For every man could do his part Like Forth and Shelmalier! We are the boys of Wexford, Who fought with heart and hand To burst in twain the galling chain, And free our native land ! My curse upon all drinking ! It made our hearts full sore ; For bravery won each battle, But drink lost evermore ; And if, for want of leaders, We lost at Vinegar Hill, We're ready for another fight, And love our country still! We are the boys of Wexford,. AVho fought with heart and hand To burst in twain the galling chain, And free o nr native land I P] APRIL 20TH, 1864. There years ago to-day We raised our hands to Heaven, And on the rolls of muster Out narae3 were thirty -seven : There were just a thousand bayonets, And the swords were tliirty-^even, And we took oath of service With our right hands raised to Heaven. Oh 'twas a gallant day, In memory still adored. That day of our sun-bright nuptials With the musket and the sword ! Shrill rang the fifes, the bugles blared, And beneath a cloudless Heaven Twinkled a thousand bayonets, And the swords were thirty -seven. Of the thousand stalwart bayonets Two hundred marched to-day I Hundreds lie in Virginia swanps. And hundreds in Maryland clay ; And other hundreds, less happy, drag 'Their shattered limbs around, And envy the deep, long, biessed sleep Of the battle-field's holy ground. For the swords — one night., a week ago, The remnant, just eleven, Gathered around a banqueting board With seats for thirty -seven. There were two limped in on crutches. And two had each but a hand To pour the wine and raise the cup. As we toasted " Our flag and laud." And the room seemed filled with \\ hispers As we looked at the vacant scats. And, with choking throats, we pushed aside The rich but un tasted meats ; Then in silence we brimmed our glasses, As we rose up — just eleven, And bowed as we drank to the loved and the dead Who had made us thirty-seven I 39 HO RY OP THE HIIX& €{ That rake up near the rafters, Why leave it there so Jong, The handle of the best of ash, r Is smooth, and straight, and strong* And mother will you tell me, Why did my lather frown, When to make the hay in summeivtime,, I climbed to take it clown?"' She looked into her husband's eyes, While her own with light clid'HIl, ** You"ll shortly know the reason, boy !"* Said Rory of the Hill. The midnight moon is lighting up, The slopes ot Sliav-na-man, — Whose foot affright the startled hares So long before the dawn ? He stopped just where the Aimer's stream, Winds up the woods anear, Then whistled low and looked around To see the coast was clear. A sheeling door flew open. In he stepped with right good will — *'God save all here, and bless your work," Said Rory of the Hill. Right hearty was the welcome That greeted him I ween, For years gone by he fully proved, How well he loved the Green ; And there was one amongst them, Who grasped him by the hand — One who through all that weary time, Roamed on that foreign strand ; He brought them news Irom gallant friends, That made their heart-strings thrill — '%' sowl! I never doubted thernl" Said Rory ot the Hill. They sat around the humble board, Till dawning of the day, And yet not song nor shout I heard — No revellers were they: Some brows flushed red with gladness, While some were grimly pale; But pale or red, from out those eyes, Flashed souls that never quail. When Freedom's signal-light blazed up, With Hope his heart did thrill, ** Now live or die for Ireland." *, Said Rory of the Hill. THE MARTYR. On the dread tempest-wing over the stormy sea, Ami fearful paths untrod. Past ships and fleets, whose pride and chivalry, Bowed to the might of God, From the far jewelled l J Eldorado ?1 of the west — To a dethroned queen's poor hopeless hreast, Came news that darkly bode. The tale to her bleeding heart is quickly told — Her exiled son is dead — Deep, in the starry land of corn and gold, They've pillowed his weary head ; There 'neath the hickoiy trees and waving limes, And hemlocks dark, where creeping ivy climbs, Is made his dreamless bed. He sunk to rest, with hopeful, trusting prayer, For his queen mother-land — She, for whose weal his fiery love did dare Fetters and felon brand ; In his proud youth his hopes were round her wreathed And his last sigh of ebbing life was breathed — For her, proscribed and banned. Now, from her brui>ed heart the poor lorn queen, Over the wild seas surge, Pours out, with pallid lips, the dismal caoine— Her dead son's dirge ; List ! O ye thronged heavens, to her song of woe, Pity her anguished soul— her tears that flow — 'Avert thy scourge. " My son is dead ! — my beautiful, my brave, Gone to his peaceful sleep ; And strangers laid my darling in his grave ; Therefore, I moan and weep. Oh ! how he loved me — oh ! but his heart was true, And his words were balm, soft as the blessed dew On the harebells deep. 41 THE MARTYR.— [Concluded. "In the dim future time, when of the garish throng Who sought in tinselled state Thy brave heart's blood, sought it through crime and wrong. And perjury and hate ; When, of their paltry thrones no trace survive In song and story, Terence ! thy name shall live Godlike, and pure, and great. 44 Ye stately towering pines, ye golden orange trees, Bending his grave above, With dreamy music in the mournful breeze, Sigh o'er my dear, dead love. Oh mystic, trackless sea, sing in your ceaseless roll, A holy i\ quiem for the patriot's soul — Droop, lillies of the grove. " Ah ! my darling, had but thy dying eyes When set their sun, Been closed by me, thy mother, 'midst my sighs, My own, my gallant one ! I would have hushed thee to thy final rest, And si lam rock-shrouded, wrapt thee in my breast — God's will be done.' 1 # * * * * Young men of Erin ! — ye of the old proud race, Sons of the fiery Gael 1 The hapless queen who sings with shadowed face, Her sad death-wail ; Whose cry is borne across the troubled sea, Is she who bore— who nursed ye tenderly — Your mother, Innisfail. And he, whose ashes lie in the golden sand, Where the red sun sinks down, Who, throned on high, shall in the spiriUlancl Receive a martyr-crown — He was thy brother. Go thou, do and dare Like him. thy guiding star ; for Ireland sweet and fair, Win glory and renown. [2] 42 DEATH OF SARSFIELD* Sarsfield has sailed from Limerick town- He held it long for country and crown, And ere he yielded the Saxon sworo To spoil our homes and our shrines no more. Sarsfield and all his chivalry Are fighting for France in the Low Country— At his fiery charge the Saxon reel : They learnt at Limerick to dread the steeL Sarsfield is dying on Landen's plain. His corslet hath met the hall in vain — As his life-blood gushes into his hand, He says, " Oh, that this was for Fatherland/' Sarsfield is dead, yet no tears shed we— He died in the arms of victor j\ And his dying words shall edge the brand "When we chase the foe from our native land. THE EMERALD ISLE. Alas ! border minstrel, the summons is vain. For unstrung is the harp, and forgotten the strain "Which Erin once sung in her pride ; And now, robbed of the glories that circled her reign, To the heartrending clank of a conqueror's chain, All tuneless she wanders the desolate plain, "With the blood of her patriots dyed ! Gone, gone are the days when the western galo Awoke every voice of the lako and the vale, With the harp, and the lute, and the lyre! "When justico uplifted her adamant shield, "While valor and freedom illumin'd the field, And thy free-born sons made the foemen to yield, "With a sword and a plumage of fire ! And now, border minstrel, the bigot and slave Pollute the pure land of the free-horn brave. The land of the sigh and the smile! — Then accurs'd be the recreant heart that could sing, And withered the hand that would waken a string, Till the angel of Liberty waves her wild wing Again o'er the Emerald Isle ! 43 THE BATTLE OF BE AL-AN- AT B" A-BUIDHE. By O'Neil close beleagur'd the spirits mighty droop Of the Saxon— three hundred shut up in their coop, Till Bagenal drew forth his Toledo, and swore On the sword of a soldier, to succor Port Mor. His veteran troops in the foreign wars tried — Their features how bronz'd, and how haughty their stride— Stept steadily on ; it was thrilling to see That thunder-cloud brooding o'er Beal-an-atha-buidhe. The flash of their armor, inlaid with fine gold — Gleaming matchlocks and cannon that mutteringly roll'd— With the tramp and the clank of those stern cuirassiers, Died in blood of the Flemish and French cavaliers. And are the mere Irish with pikes and with darts— With but glibl>covered heads, and but rib-guarded hearts— Half-naked, half-fed, with few muskets; no guns — The battle to dare against England's proud sons ? Poor Bonnachts, and wild Gallowglasses, and Kern- Let them war with rude brambles, sharp furze, and dry fern Wirrastrue for their wives— for their babes ochanie, If they wait for the Saxon at Beal-an-atha-buidhe. Yet O'Neil standeth firm— few and brief his commands — " Ye have hearts in your bosoms, and pikes in your hands ; Try how far you can push them, my children, at once ; Fag an Bealach — and down with horse, foot, and great guns. They have gold and gay arms — they have biscuit and bread; Now, sons of my soul, we'll be found and be fed ;" And he clutch'd his claymore, and—" Look yonder," laugh'dha, What a arand commissariat for Bealan-athea-buidhe, 44 THE FORLORN HOPE. Let ns lift the green flag high Underneath this loreign sky, Unrol the verdant vol a roe to the wind. As we hasten to tlio fight Let ns drink a last good night To the beauty which we leave, boy, behind, behind, behind; To the beauty which wo leave, boy, behind. Plant it high upon the breach, And within the flag-stad's reach ; "We'll offer it the tribute of our goro. Yes ! on that altar high, 'Spite ot tyrants we can die, And our spirits to tho saints abovo may soar, aoar, soar, And our spirits to the saints above may soar. Liberty is gone, Now 'tis glory leads ns on, And spangles gloomy slavery's night; If freedom's shattered bark Has not foundered i' the dark, Her wreck must see this beacon bright, bright, bright; Her wreck will see this beacon bright, Yes; glory's shining light Must irradiate the night, And renew the flaming splendour of the day I And freedom's sinking crew Shall recover hope anew. And hail the blazing splendour of this ray, ray, ray, And hail tho blazing splendour of this ray. The green flag on the air, Sons of Erin ne'er despair, To the breach in serried column quick advance. On the summit we may fall ; Hand and hand, my comrades all, Let us drink a last adieu to merry France, France, Framce Let us drink a last adieu to merry France. To Erin, comrades, too. And her sunny sk ies of blue, A goblet commingled with tears! AYith the flour-delis divine, The green Shamrock shalll entwine; But tho Ancient koo the Sunburst rears, rearn, rears; The Ancient see tho Sunburst rears. 45 IRISH ARE NO LONGER SLAVES. When Britain first at hell's command, Prepar'd to cross the Irish main, Thus spoke a prophet in our land, 'Mid traitors' scoff an I fools' disdain, "If Britannia, Britannia cross the waves, Irish ever shall be slaves. And suff ring still with slav'ry foul, Shall bruise your heart, and sere our brain Lost Isle ! with matchless beauty crown'd, But wanting strength to break your chain, If Britannia, Britannia cross the waves, Irish ever shall be slaves." In vain the warning patriot spoke, In treach'rous guise Britannia came — Divided, bent us to her yoke, Till Ireland rose, in Freedom's name, And Britannia, Britannia boldly braves, Irish are no longer slaves ! THE VOW OF TIPPERARY. From Caerick streets to Shannon shore, From Slievenamon to Ballindeary, From Longford Pass to Gaillte Mor, Come, hear The Vow of Tipperary. Too long we fought for Britain's cause, And of our blood were never chary ; She paid us back with tyrant laws, And thinned the homes of Tipperary. Too long with rash and single arm, The peasant strove to guard his eyrie, Ti 1 Irish blood bedewed each farm, And Ireland wept for Tipperary. But never more we'll lift a hand — We swear by God and Virgin Mary ! Except in war for Native Land, And that's The Vow of Tipperary 1 46 IRISH WAR SONG. Bright sun, before whose glorious ray, Our Pagan fathers bent the knee ; Whose pillar altars yet can say, When time was young our sires were free — Who seest how fallen their offspring be — Our matrons' tears — our patriot's gore ; "We sw^ar before high Heaveu and thee, The Saxon holds us s aves no more ! Our Sunburst on the Roman foe Flash d vengeance once in foreign field— On Clontarfs plain lay scathed low What power the Sea kings fierce could wield. Bein Burb might say whose cloven shield 'Neath bloody hoofs was trampled o'er ; And by these memories high, we yield Our limbs to Saxon chains no more ! The clairscach wild, whose !r mbling string Had long the u song of sorrow ■ spoke. Shall bid the wild Rosg-Cata sing The curse and crime of Saxon yoke. And, by each heart his bondage broke — Each exile's sigh on distant shore — Tach martyr 'neath the headman's stroke — The Saxon holds us slaves no more ! Send the loud war-cry o'er the main — Your Sunburst to the breezes sprea \ \ That slogan rends the heaven in twain — The earth reels back beneath your tread, Ye Saxon despots, hear, and dread — Your march o'er patriot hearts is o'er — That shout hath told — that tramp hath sail. Our countrv's sous arc slaves no more.* 47 NATIVE SWORDS. We've bent too long to braggart wrong, While force our prayers derided; We've fought too long, ours Ives among, By knaves and priests divided : United now, no more we^ll bow, Foul faction, we discard it ; And now, thank God ! our native sod Has Native Swords to guard it. Like rivers, which, o'er valleys rich, Bring ruin in their water, On native land, a native hind Flung foreign fraud and slaughter. From Der mod's crime to Tudor's time Our clans were our perdition ; Religion's name, since then, became Our pretext for division. But, worse than all, with Lim'rick's fall Our valour seem'd to perish ; Or, o'er th j main, in France and Spain, For bootless vengeance flourish. The peasant, here, grew pale for fear He'd suffer for our glory, While France sang joy for Fontenoy, And Europe hymn' d our story. But now, no clan, nor factious plan, The east and west can sunder — Why Ulster e'er should Munster fear Can only wake our wonder. Religion s crost, when union's lost. And " royal gifts" retard it ; And now, thank God! < ur native sod His Native Swords to guard it. 48 MACKENNA'S DREAM. One night of late I chanced to stray, When all the green in slumber lay, The moon sunk in the deep ; 1 sat upon a ruined mound, And while the wild wind whistled round, The ocean, with a solemn sound, Luird me fast asleep. I dreamt I saw that hero true, Who did the Danish force subdue, His sabre bright, with wrath he drew, These words he said to me ; "The Harp, with rapture, yet shall sound, My children's chains shall be unbounl, And they shall gather safe around The blooming laurel tree." I thought: brave Sarsfield drew up nigh And to my question made reply ; " For Erin's cause I'll live and die As thousands did before. My sword again on Aughrim's plain Old Erin's rights shall well maintain, Through millions in the battle slain, And thousands in their gore.*' I thought Saint Ruth stood on the ground, And said, " I'll be your monarch crowned, Encompassed by the French around All marching to the field ;" He raised a Cross, and thus did sajr, 44 Brave boys, we'll show them gallant play ; Let no man dare disgrace the day, WeM die before we yield." The brave O'Byrne, he w r as there, From Ballymanus, bright and fair, Brought Wicklow, Carlow, and Kildare, To march at his command ; w MACKENNA'S DREAM.— [Continued. Westmeath and Caven too did join, The county Louth men crossed the Boyne, Slane, Trim, and Navan too did join With Dublin to a man. O'Keilly, on tlie hill of Screene, He drew his sword, both bright and keen, And swore by all his eyes had seen, He would avenge the fall Of Erin's sons and daughters brave, Who nobly filled a martyr's grave, And died, rather than live a slave, And still for vengeance call. Then Father Murphy came to say, " Behold niy lord I'm here to^ftay, With eighteen thousand pikemen gay, From Wexford's hills and caves ; Our country's fate, it sure depends On us, and on our gallant triends, And heaven will their cause defend, Who ne'er were willing slaves." I thought the band played " Patrick's Day," To marshal all in grand array ; With cap and feather, white and gay They marched in warlike glow. With drums and trumpets loud and shrill, And cannon upon every hill, A.nd pikemen, who, with valor thrill To strike the fatal blow. When all at once appeared in sight An army clad in armor bright, Both front, and rear, and left, and right, Marched Paddies evermore. m 50 MACKENNA'S MtZAil - Tlie chic: hed the with skill, rinined tyrants* Mood to spill, in a mountain rill, .piJ as A Frenchman brave rose up and said, ■■ Let Erius sons be not dismayed, I i . the vanguard lead. To honor and renown. Come, bravely draw your swords miih me, And let each tyrant bigot see Dear Z ... - "...._.: mm . - free Before the sua goes down." Along the line t!:ey raised a shout, Crying. * 4 Quick march, right abc With b. xed they all marched ee the deadly foe. The enemy were no v i thundering cannon planted nigh ; v thousauds in deaih-struggle lie, And streams oi crimson flow. The enemy made sneb a squr. As drove our cavalry to despair ; Who were nigh routed, rank and it But yet not forced to yield, vxford boys that ne'er were sir. ..t i heir back. Oil Longford joined, who in a crack, Soon sen: i.>eoi en the lie id. They gave three cheers for lib: As the enemy all broken flee ; I looked around but could not One foeman on the plain. Ex ept the men who wounded lay. When I J of day, So ends MacKenua s ureain. |3j 51 THE SAXON SHILLING. Hark ! a martial sound is heard— The march of soldiers, fifing, drumming; Eyes are staring, hearts are stirr'd— For bold recruits the brave are coming- Ribands flaunting, feathers gay — The sounds ami sights are surely thrilling, Dazzled village youths to-day Will crowd to "take tlie Saxon Shilling. Te, whose spirits will not how In peace to parish tyrants longer— Ye, who wear the villain brow, And ye who pine in hopeless hnnger — Fools, without the brave man's faith — All slaves and starvelings who are willing To sell yourselves to shame and death — Accept the fatal Saxon Shilling. Ere yon from your mountains go To feel the scourge of foreign fever, Swear to serve tho f dthless foe That lures you from your hand forever ! Swear h nceforth its tools to be — To slaughter trained by ceaseless drilling- Honor, home, and liberty, Abandon'd for a Saxon Shilling. Gr> — to find, 'mid crime and toil, The doom to which such guilt is hurried ; Go — to leave on Indian soil Your bones to bleach, accurs'd, unburied! Go — to crush the just and brave, Whose wrongs with wrath the world are filling Go — to slay each brother slave, Or spurn the blood-stained Saxon Shilling. Irish hearts ! why should you bleed, To swell the tide of British glory — Aiding despots in their need. Who've changed our green so oft to gory ? None, save those who wish to see The noblest lulled, the meanest killing, And true hearts severed from the froo, Will take again the Saxon Shilling, Irish youths! reserve your srcength Until an hour of glorious duty, When Freedom's smile shall cheer at length The land of bravery and beauty. Bribes and threats, oh, heed no more — Let nought but Justice make you willing. To leave your own dear Island shore, For those who send the Saxon Shilling. 62 CLARES DBAGOONS. When on Ramillies' bloody field, The baffled French were forced to yield, The victor Saxon backward reeled Before the charge ot Clare's Dragoons. The flags we conquered in that fray, Look )o e in Ypres' choir, they say. Well win them company to-day, Or bravely die like Clare's Dragoon*. CHORUS, Tiva la for Ireland's wrong ! Viva la for Ireland's right ! Viva la in battled throng, For a Spanish steed and sabre bright I The brave old lord died ne::r the fi. But. for each drop he lost that night, A Saxon cavalier shall bite The dust before Lord Clare's Dr p For, never, when our spurs were eet. And never, when our sabres met, Coul.i we the Saxon soldiers get, To stan 1 the shook of Clare's Dragoons . Viva la the New Briga Viva la the Old One. t Viva la ih •• Rose shall fade, And the S amrock shine for ever new 1 Another Clare is here to lead, The worthy son of such a breed ; Tke French i xpect some famous deed, AY hen Clare leads on his bold Dragoons. CLARE'S DRAGOONS Our Colonel comes from Brian's race His wounds are in bis breast and face, The gap of danger's still bis place, The foremost of bis bold Dragoons. Viva la tbe New Brigade ! Viva la tbe Old One, too! Viva la tbe Rose shall fade, And tbe Shamrock shine for ever new ! There's not a man in squadron here Was ever known to flinch or fear ; Though first in charge and last in rear, Have ever been Lord Clare's Dragoons ; But, see ! we'll soon have work to do, To shame our boasts, or prove them true, For hither comes the English crew, To sweep away Lord Clare's Dragoons. Viva la for Ireland's wrong ! Viva la for Ireland's right ! Viva la in battled throng, For a Spanish steed and sabre bright I Oh ! comrades, think how Ireland pines, Her exiled lords, her rifled shrines, Her dearest hope, the ordered lines, And bursting charge of Clare s Dragoons. Then fling your Green Flag to the sky, Be Limerick your battle-cry, And charge, til blood floats fetlock-high, Around the track of Clare's Dragoons. Viva la the New Brigade ! Viva la the Old One, too 1 Viva .'a tbe Rose shall fade, And the Shnmrock shine for ever new ! m 65 54 THE MYRTLE AND SHAMROCK. By Pathicius (P. J. O'Kennedt.J The Myrtle blooms in foreign bowers, It given its perfume to the air Beneath Sicilia's balmy showers, And by Sorrento fair ; It waves above the martial slain, By gentle breezes fanned, In bine Ausonia's c!imc, and Spain — The minstrel's favored land. The virgins meet beneath its shade, The lovers tell their tale, When moonlight lends its genial aid, To make its force prevail ; And many a lay of olden rhyme Have bards beneath it sung, In sweet Italia's sunny clime, In Tasso's native tongue. Yet more I prize the shamrock green, That springs from Irish sod ; For in its triple leaves are seen An emblem of the God Who reigns in triune majesty On his supernal throne; Where radiant seraphs bend the knee, And all His glories own. For Erin's saint, as legends tell, Its triple blossoms chose, To prove this truth, still chershed well Through Erin's countless woes; And hence we prize the emblem fair, And love its emerald green ; And Ireland's sons its leaves shall wear In every clime and scene. 55 UP! 'Tis Spring — and blithe from spray to spray The winged musicians hop, Uniting in a roundelay, As if they all were UP. Each plant erects its pendent head, Each flower expands its cup ; The very weeds in every bed Set impudently UP. 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