Memoirs of Anne C. L. Botta/Liberty to Ireland

A nation's birthday breaks in glory; Songs from her hills and valleys rise, And myriad hearts thrill to the story Of Freedom's wars and victories. When God's right arm alone was o'er her, And in his name the patriot band, With sacred blood baptized the land, And England's Lion crouched before her, Sons of the Emerald Isle! She bids you rend the chain, And tell the haughty ocean queen Ye, too, are free-born men.

Long had the world looked on in sorrow As Erin's sunburst set in night. Joy, joy! there breaks a glorious morrow; Behold a beam of morning light! A ray of hope, her night redeeming! And she greets it, though there lower England's scaffold, England's tower; And though hireling swords are gleaming, Wild shouts on every breeze Come swelling o'er the sea: Hark! 't is her starving millions' cry: "Give Ireland Liberty!"