X.
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!
YOUNG IRELAND.
I.
When comes the day, all hearts to weigh,
If staunch they be or vile,
Shall we forget the sacred debt
We owe our mother isle?
My native heath is green beneath,
My native waters blue;
But crimson red o'er both shall spread,
Ere I am false to you,
Dear land—
Ere I am false to you.
II.
When I behold your mountains bold—
Your noble lakes and streams—
A mingled tide of grief and pride
Within my bosom teems.
I think of all your long, dark thrall—
Your martyrs brave and true;
And dash apart the tears that start
We must not weep for you,
Dear land—
We must not weep for you.
III.
My grandsire died, his home beside;
They seized and hanged him there;
His only crime, in evil time,
