Or shillelaghs gently rapping, on the verdant Shannon shore.
“’Tis more Irishmen,” I muttered, “from the verdant Shannon shore—
Home Rulers, and nothing more!”
Ah, distinctly I remember—’twas in Eighty-six, November,
After every “Union” member had conspired my bill to floor—
In a state of agitation, I sought some vaticination
Which should show me if the nation would their G.O.M. restore:
If the public their old leader would to place and power restore
Once again, or nevermore.
Once again I heard the tapping; then, his ebon pinions flapping,