IV.
Go—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!
V.
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 killed, the meanest killing,
And true hearts severed from the free,
Will take again the Saxon Shilling!
VI.
Irish youths! reserve your strength
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.
IRISH WAR-SONG.
A. D. 1843.
I.
Bright sun, before whose glorious ray,
Our Pagan fathers bent the knee;
Whose pillar-altars yet can say,
