Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 2
Sublime was the warning that liberty spoke,|
And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke
Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain.
Oh, Liberty! let not this spirit have rest,
Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the west
Give the light of your look to each sorrowing spot,
Nor, oh, be the Shamrock of Erin forgot
While you add to your garland the Olive of Spain.
2. If the fame of our fathers, bequeathed with their rights,
3. Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd|
The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find
That repose which, at home, they had sigh'd for in vain,
Join, join in our hope that the flame, which you light,
May be felt yet in Erin, as calm and as bright,
And forgive even Albion while blushing she draws,
Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted cause
Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain!
4. God prosper the cause! - oh, it cannot but thrive,
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