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Show THE KFIM10N cT VILDH D. NEOT The old man will not march today he meant to be in line; You mind last year he stepped along so jaunty and so fine His hat atilt so boyishly, his shoulders straight and. square, ) And him near eighty, but as young as any marching there?) ( Twas yesterday his shamrock come. 'Twas Clancey enj: it fiim , And when he saw the little leaves his eyes grew soft, andi dim it-And it-And he sat down and patted it. like 'twas a baby's hdin! J .f'k i The UtSeTbifofigreen that camejxpm far off CounryljClafeJ Ll: Twas like a man that had a spell, the way he'd sit and 'look And sigh about the way it grows along the little brook That runs into the Shannon-" Twasthe song it sang,'" 'said he, "That led me to the Shannon and from thereaSrossthe sea. But sure this is the voiceof home, grown up so sweet knd clean; Andikehe 16v I bear for it, still tender, young and green, ) It painfi athoiSand things for me I wish .that Ijwas there; ,1 wtth And long into themhtsatreaoi other days, He whispered of the boyhood paths, as one whose fancy strays Back over long forgotten fields and then with eyes aflame He looked and looked into the past and whispered mother's name! "Acushla! Norah!" . . . Sure 'twas joy that held him when he sighed, He dropped his head upon hjsmand, dreaming so, he died. . And in his hand, presseddose againsthis locks, of silver hair . . Was crushed the little kf of green frorrSar lbff) C0unty Clare. . . |