[ THE MINSTREL-BOY]
The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you’ll find him; His father’s sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him.— ‘Land of song!’ said the warrior-bard, ‘Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee!’
The Minstrel fell!—but the foeman’s chain Could not bring his proud soul under; The harp he loved ne’er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder; And said, ‘No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the brave and free, They shall never sound in slavery!’
T. Moore.
[ THE FAREWELL]
It was a’ for our rightfu’ King, We left fair Scotland’s strand; It was a’ for our rightfu’ King We e’er saw Irish land, My dear; We e’er saw Irish land.
Now a’ is done that men can do, And a’ is done in vain; My love and native land farewell, For I maun cross the main, My dear; For I maun cross the main.
