O, 'tis welcoming, wide-hearted, that dear land of love!
Fair Hills of Eire O!
New life unto the martyred is the pure breeze above
The Fair Hills of Eire O!
More sweet than tune flowing o'er the chords of gold
Comes the kine's soft lowing from the mountain fold,—
O, the Splendour of the Sunshine on them all, Young and Old,
'Mid the Fair Hills of Eire O!
George Sigerson.
[SHULE AROON]
A Brigade Ballad
Sir Charles Gavan Duffy says that the date of this ballad is not positively known, but it appears to be early in the eighteenth century, when the flower of the Catholic youth of Ireland were drawn away to recruit the ranks of the Irish Brigade abroad. It is accompanied by an air of deep sentiment and touching simplicity.—Ballad Poetry of Ireland.
I would I were on yonder hill,
'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill,
And every tear would turn a mill,
Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan!
Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail, a ruin!
Siubhail go socair, agus siubhail go ciuin,
Siubhail go d-ti an doras agus eulaigh liom,
Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan![111]
I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,
I'll sell my only spinning-wheel,
To buy for my love a sword of steel,
Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan!
Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail a ruin! &c.
I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red,
And round the world I'll beg my bread,
Until my parents shall wish me dead,
Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan!
Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail, a ruin! &c.