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Show SONG OF CHAS. J. XIRKHAJYL Tho' tyrant exult and their banners proclaim. pro-claim. And a sceptre of iron mav sway, Opression, the Irish heart never can tame; No; nor drive hope of freedom away. The yoke may be heavy and firm In its place, And the fetters secured all may be-But be-But blood will wash out each most shameful shame-ful disgrace. And Ireland will truly be free. The day may be distant, perhaps It Is near. When freedom shall dawn on our land. When Ireland no longer a tyrant need fear; Her rights she will seek and demand. Her fields now deserted shall blossom once more. And her ships; will skim over the sea; The hirelings of England banished from our shore. Then Ireland will truly be fret. Then "toast" our fair Ireland my countrymen- all, Success to her struggle so nigh, Her sons will spring forth at the first trumpet call. Then battle for freedom or die. And when we have conquered, and peace smiles again. Let this our fond toast ever be: "Confusion "Con-fusion to tyrants" wherever they reign. And Ireland will truly be free. |