Page:Irish minstrelsy, vol 2 - Hardiman.djvu/91

Rh

Erin's the land of hospitable cheer,
 * The day I left her was a day of woe;

There golden plenty crowns the labourer's year,$1$
 * And shadowy glens with balmy honey flow.

Fair are her wood-land paths and murmuring rills.
 * Sweet is the stream that from each rock distils,

Bright are the dew-drops glistening on her hills,
 * Land of my heart! O Uileacan Dubh O!

Mark her throng'd exiles lingering on their decks.
 * Their eyes still kindling with the hero's glow;

The glossy ringlets curling down their necks,
 * Have wrung reluctant praises from the foe.$2$