Page:The Spirit of the Nation.djvu/156

60 Through many a century of darkness and gloom

We writhed in our sorrow and wept at our doom;

We begged and implored, but they laughed at our prayer—

The answer they gave us was—"devil may care,"

You're "mere Irish" rebels—so devil may care.

But no longer, like cowards, we'll kneel to the foe—

"Soft words they will butter no parsnips" we know;

Our they must give "on the nail"—"a child's share"

We claim, and must get. By St. Patrick, we swear,

We won't be put off with a "devil may care."

Adieu!—the snowy sail

Swells her bosom to the gale,

And our barque from Innisfail

Bounds away.

While we gaze upon thy shore,

That we never shall see more,

And the blinding tears flow o'er,

We pray:

Mo bournin! be thou long

In peace, the queen of song—

In battle proud and strong

As the sea!

Be saints thine offspring still—

True heroes guard each hill—

And harps by ev'ry rill

Sound free!