  Donnchad Ruadh MacNamara, about 1730. Take my heart's blessing over to dear Eire's strand— Fair Hills of Eire O! To the Remnant that love her—our Forefathers' land! Fair Hills of Eire O! How sweet sing the birds, o'er mount there and vale, Like soft sounding chords, that lament for the Gael,— And I, o'er the surge, far, far away must wail The Fair Hills of Eire O! How fair are the flow'rs on the dear daring peaks, Fair Hills of Eire O! Far o'er foreign bowers I love her barest reeks, Fair Hills of Eire O! Triumphant her trees, that rise on ev'ry height, Bloom-kissed, the breeze comes odorous and bright, The love of my heart!—O my very soul's delight! The Fair Hills of Eire O! Still numerous and noble her sons who survive, Fair Hills of Eire O! The true hearts in trouble, the strong hands to strive— Fair Hills of Eire O! Ah, 'tis this makes my grief, my wounding and my woe, And my Country divided amongst the Foreign Foe— The Fair Hills of Eire O! In purple they gleam, like our High Kings of yore, The Fair Hills of Eire O! With honey and cream are her plains flowing o'er, Fair Hills of Eire O! Once more I will come, or my very life shall fail, To the heart-haunted home of the ever-faithful Gael, Than King's boon more welcome the swift swelling sail For the Fair Hills of Eire O! The dewdrops sparkle, like diamonds on the corn, Fair Hills of Eire O! Where green boughs darkle the bright apples burn Fair Hills of Eire O! Behold, in the valley, cress and berries bland, Where streams love to dally, in that Wondrous Land, Where the great River-voices roll in music grand Round the Fair Hills of Eire O! O, 'tis welcoming, wide-hearted, that dear land of love! Fair Hills of Eire O! New life unto the martyred is the pure breeze above The Fair Hills of Eire O! More sweet than tune flowing o'er the chords of gold Comes the kine's soft lowing from the mountain fold,— O, the Splendour of the Sunshine on them all, Young and Old, 'Mid the Fair Hills of Eire O! George Sigerson. |
|
