CLXII
THE WEARIN’ O’ THE GREEN
O, Paddy dear! an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground;
No more St. Patrick’s Day we’ll keep, his colour can’t be seen,
For there’s a cruel law agin the wearin’ o’ the green!
I met wid Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand,
And he said, ‘How’s poor Ould Ireland, and how does she stand?’
She’s the most disthressful country that iver yet was seen,
For they’re hangin’ men and women there for wearin’ o’ the green.
An’ if the colour we must wear is England’s cruel red,
Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed;
Then pull the shamrock from your hat and throw it on the sod,—
And never fear, ’twill take root there, tho’ under foot ’tis trod!
When law can stop the blades of grass from growin’ as they grow,
And when the leaves in summer-time their colour dare not show,
Then I will change the colour, too, I wear in my caubeen,
But till that day, plaze God, I’ll stick to wearin’ o’ the green.
Anonymous.
|
  |
