Thomas Davis, Selections from his Prose and Poetry Part 43

I.

From Carrick streets to Shannon sh.o.r.e, From Slievenamon to Ballindeary, From Longford Pa.s.s to Gaillte Mor, Come hear The Vow of Tipperary.

II.

Too long we fought for Britain's cause, And of our blood were never chary; She paid us back with tyrant laws, And thinned The Homes of Tipperary.

III.

Too long with rash and single arm, The peasant strove to guard his eyrie, Till Irish blood bedewed each farm, And Ireland wept for Tipperary.

IV.

But never more we'll lift a hand-- We swear by G.o.d and Virgin Mary!

Except in war for Native Land, And _that's_ The Vow of Tipperary!

TIPPERARY.

I.

Let Britain boast her British hosts, About them all right little care we; Not British seas nor British coasts Can match the Man of Tipperary!

II.

Tall is his form, his heart is warm, His spirit light as any fairy-- His wrath is fearful as the storm That sweeps the Hills of Tipperary!

III.

Lead him to fight for native land, His is no courage cold and wary; The troops live not on earth would stand The headlong charge of Tipperary!

IV.

Yet meet him in his cabin rude, Or dancing with his dark-haired Mary, You'd swear they knew no other mood But Mirth and Love in Tipperary!

V.

You're free to share his scanty meal, His plighted word he'll never vary-- In vain they tried with gold and steel To shake the Faith of Tipperary!

VI.

Soft is his _cailin's_ sunny eye, Her mien is mild, her step is airy, Her heart is fond, her soul is high-- Oh! she's the Pride of Tipperary!

VII.

Let Britain brag her motley rag; We'll lift the Green more proud and airy-- Be mine the lot to bear that flag, And head the Men of Tipperary!

VIII.

Though Britain boasts her British hosts, About them all right little care we-- Give us, to guard our native coasts, The matchless Men of Tipperary!

THE WEST'S ASLEEP.

AIR--_The Brink of the White Rocks._

I.

When all beside a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep-- Alas! and well may Erin weep, When Connaught lies in slumber deep.

There lake and plain smile fair and free, 'Mid rocks--their guardian chivalry-- Sing oh! let man learn liberty From cras.h.i.+ng wind and las.h.i.+ng sea.

II.

That chainless wave and lovely land Freedom and Nationhood demand-- Be sure, the great G.o.d never planned, For slumbering slaves, a home so grand.

And, long, a brave and haughty race Honoured and sentinelled the place-- Sing oh! not even their sons' disgrace Can quite destroy their glory's trace.

III.

For often, in O'Connor's van, To triumph dashed each Connaught clan-- And fleet as deer the Normans ran Through Corlieu's Pa.s.s and Ardrahan.

And later times saw deeds as brave; And glory guards Clanricarde's grave-- Sing oh! they died their land to save, At Aughrim's slopes and Shannon's wave.

IV.

And if, when all a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep-- Alas! and well may Erin weep, That Connaught lies in slumber deep.

But, hark! some voice like thunder spake: "_The West's awake! the West's awake!_"-- "Sing oh! hurra! let England quake, We'll watch till death for Erin's sake!"