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Show DAWN O X THE I U I S I r ( o A : .' j Than-A-Mo-Dhia! But tl."-r it i-' I The dawn on the hills of Ip-lai'd; God's angels lifting the night's d.!- ! From the fair sweet face of i:!v i Oh, Ireland, isn't it grand yon , , Like a bride in her rich adorn;;, ', And with all the pent-up lovo of tt.;. ., ,iri I bid you "The top of the ni'r:;i: '." j This one short hour pays lavishly ..- For many a year of mouniinir; J I'd almost venture another fligl. There's so much joy in returning. Watching out for the hallowed shor-. All other attractions scorning. Oh, Ireland, from my heart of hear' ; I bid you the top of the morning! Ho! ho! upon Clenna's shelving s:r""7 I The surges are wildly beating. And Kerry is pushing her headlands r - To give us her kindly greeting. Into the shore, the seabirds fly "-" On pinions that know no droop-ng. And out from the cliffs with weleo;1;i. .. A million waves come trooping. And doesn't old Cove look charming Watching the wild waves' motion; Leaning her head against the sair And the tips of her toes in the orv.vil " I wonder I don't hear Shandon's belli. Ah, maybe their chiming is over; For many's the year since I began The life of a western rover! Oh, kindly, leal, Celtic land ! So generous and fair and loving. No wonder the absent Celt would dream i And think of you in his roving. The alien land may have gems in gold And sorrow may ne'er have gloomed it. But the heart still sighs for the distanit lan-i Where the love light first illumed it. For thirty summers, Asthore Machro Those hills I now feast my eyes on. Ne'er met my gaze save when they rose On memory's dim horizon. Even so, it was grand and fair they prenK"!. In the vision drawn before me; But dreams are dreams, and my eyes would opa To see Texas skies still o'er me. j And often on those Texas plains, When the day and the chase were over. My eyes would stray o'er the watery waste And round this coast line hover. And the prayer would rise that some future day-All day-All danger and doubting scorning. I might help to win for my native ile The light of young Liberty's morning. Now nearer and clearer the coast line slioir Was ever a scene more splendid! l ean feel the breath of the Munster breeze, J Thank God. my exile's ended ! Old scenes, old songs, old friends again; The vale and the cot I was born in. Oh, Ireland, Ireland, from a raptured heart I bid you the top of the mornin'! |