Thomas Osborne Davis

I. When boyhood's fire was in my blood I read of ancient freemen

I. The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in prostrate men;

Air--Blind Mary. I. There flows from her spirit such love and delight,

I. We hate the Saxon and the Dane, We hate the Norman men--

Air--Viva la. I. When, on Ramillies' bloody field,

I. Thrice, at the huts of Fontenoy, the English column failed, And twice the lines of Saint Antoine the Dutch in vain assailed;

I. "Did they dare, did they dare, to slay Eoghan Ruadh O'Neill?" "Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel."

I. How soft is the moon on Glengariff, The rocks seem to melt with the light:

Shall they bury me in the deep, Where wind-forgetting waters sleep? Shall they dig a grave for me,

I. She is a rich and rare land; Oh! she's a fresh and fair land;

I. A Nation's voice, a nation's voice-- It is a solemn thing!

Air--The Piper of Blessington. I. Tall are the towers of O'Ceinneidigh[2]--

Lines To Hogan. Chisel the likeness of The Chief, Not in gaiety, nor grief;

Air--The Swaggering Jig. I. Oh! the marriage, the marriage,

Air--The Protestant Boys. I. Ireland! rejoice, and England! deplore--

I. Let the coward shrink aside, We'll have our own again;

I. Though savage force and subtle schemes, And alien rule, through ages lasting,

Air--Contented I am. I. The mess-tent is full, and the glasses are set,

His kiss is sweet, his word is kind, His love is rich to me; I could not in a palace find

Air--An Cota Caol. I. His kiss is sweet, his word is kind,

Why rings the knell of the funeral bell from a hundred village shrines? Through broad Fingall, where hasten all those long and ordered lines? With tear and sigh they're passing by--the matron and the maid--

I. The church of Dungannon is full to the door, And sabre and spur clash at times on the floor,

I. Bright red is the sun on the waves of Lough Sheelin, A cool, gentle breeze from the mountain is stealing,

I The Geraldines! The Geraldines! 'tis full a thousand years Since, 'mid the Tuscan vineyards, bright flashed their

I. The Geraldines! the Geraldines!--'tis full a thousand years Since, 'mid the Tuscan vineyards, bright flashed their battle-spears;

I. 'Tis pretty to see the girl of Dunbwy Stepping the mountain statelily--

Air--Irish Molly O! I. Full often when our fathers saw the Red above the Green,

Air--Gr'dh mo chroidhe. I. Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be,

Air--The Wheelwright. I. Oh! weep those days, the penal days,

I. Let the feeble-hearted pine, Let the sickly spirit whine,

The summer sun is falling soft on Carbery's hundred isles, The summer sun is gleaming still through Gabriel's rough defiles; Old Innisherkin's crumbled fane looks like a moulting bird,

I. The summer sun is falling soft on Carbery's hundred isles-- The summer sun is gleaming still through Gabriel's rough defiles--

From Milan to Cremona Duke Villeroy rode, And soft are the beds in his princely abode; In billet and barrack the garrison sleep,

I. From Carrick streets to Shannon shore, From Slievenamon to Ballindeary,

Come in the evening, or come in the morning; Come when you 're look'd for, or come without warning: Kisses and welcome you 'll find here before you,

Air--The Brink of the White Rocks. I. When all beside a vigil keep,

I. Let Britain boast her British hosts, About them all right little care we;

I. In Bodenstown Churchyard there is a green grave, And wildly along it the winter winds rave;

I. We must not fail, we must not fail, However fraud or force assail;