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Show A STIRRING IRISH " I . S0NQ FOR.ST. j; PATRICK'S DAY, Ob! Paddy; deaf, and did you bear the now that's going 'round. The Shamrock la forbid by law to grow on Irian (round; -St. Patrick' Day no more to keep, his color can't b seen; For there's a bloody law agin the wearln' of the green. I met with Happer Tandy, and he tuk me by the hand, And he said, "HoWs poor Ould Ireland, and how does she at and T" She's tho most distressful country that ever you. have, seen; They're hanging men and wo lien there for wee. tin' of the green. In Ireland's fight against British rule no son? bas played a larger part than this revolutionary ballad, written half a century ago by Dion Bouclcault as a part of his wonderfully successful play, "Arrah-na-Pogue." It was founded on a still older revolutionary street ballad In which a conversation was Imagined between Bonaparte and an Irishman. Bonaparte was supposed to have asked: And how Is ould Ireland, and how does she stand? The reply, plaintive and yet sweet, came: 'Tie a poor distressed Country, oh, poor I-ar-lanU. This Imaginary conversation just suited the purpose of Bouclcault when he cast about for a song for Shaun of the Post In his play, and he composed the words which have brought tears to the eyes and stirred the blood of hundreds hun-dreds of thousands of Irishmen the world over. The first stansa is followed by one breathing defiance in, every line. This is the sentiment: When the law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow; And when the leaves in summer time their verdure dare not show; Then I will change the color I wear ln my caubeen. But 'till that day. please God. I'll stick to wearing of the green. Nor is that all that the song shows of the Irish feeling. As a race Irishmen wanted freedom then as they want It now, and they looked to America then, as they do now, for an asylum. The last stania points out depopulation of Ireland as the result of continued oppression, op-pression, and looks to this side of the water: Where the cruel cross of England's thraldom thral-dom never shall be seen. And where, thank God, we'll live and die, still wearing of the green. Bouclcault, actor and dramatic writer, was born in Dublin. March 26, 1822. His father being a French refugee. It was only natural that the son, though educated in England, should take up the cause of the oppressed. He spent a great deal of time ln this country, and always praised it and its institutions. |