3
He meets with his Shila who bluſhing a ſmile,
Cries get you gone Pat yet conſents all the while,
To a Prieſt ſoon they go, and nine months after that
A fine baby cries how d'ye do father Pat,
With your Sprig, &c.
Bleſs the country ſays I, that gave Patrick his birth,
Bleſs the land of the oak and its neighbouring earth.
Where grows the Shilale, &c.
May the ſons of the Thames the Tweed and the Shannon,
Drub the foes who dare plant in our confines a cannon
United and happy and loyalty ſhine,
May the Roſe and the Thiſtle long flouriſh and twine
Round the Sprig of Shilale and Shamrock ſo green
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM
OUR bugles had ſung, for the night-cloud had lower'd,
And the centinel ſtars ſet the watch in the ſky,
And thouſands had ſunk on the ground overpower'd,
The weary to ſleep, and the wounded to die.
When repoſing that night on my pallet of ſtraw.
By the wolf-ſcaring faggot, and guarded the ſlain,
At the dead of the night a ſweet viſion I ſaw,
And twice ere the cock crew, I dreamt it again.
