The land of the lakes
Shall no more know the prospect
Of valleys and brakes—
So transform'd is her aspect!
The Gael cannot tell,
In the uprooted wild-wood
And red ridgy dell,
The old nurse of his childhood;
The nurse of his youth
Is in doubt as she views him,
If the wan wretch, in truth,
Be the child of her bosom.
We starve by the board,
And we thirst amid wassail—
For the guest is the lord,
And the host is the vassal!
Through the woods let us roam,
Through the wastes wild and barren;
We are strangers at home!
We are exiles in Erin!
And Erin's a bark
O'er the wide waters driven!
And the tempest howls dark,
And her side planks are riven!
And in billows of might
Swell the Saxon before her,—
Unite, oh, unite!
Or the billows burst o'er her!
Sir Samuel Ferguson.