Ballads of Irish chivalry By Robert Dwyer Joyce: Edited, with Annotations, by his brother P. W. Joyce |
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YOU'RE A DEAR LAND TO ME. |
 | Ballads of Irish chivalry |  |
YOU'RE A DEAR LAND TO ME.
I
There's a stream in Glenlara, whose silvery fountainLeaps up into life where the heather-bells bloom,
That steals through the moorland and winds round the mountain,
Now laughing in sunlight now weeping in gloom;
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From out the greenwood glancing, my home you once could see;
Now an exile far away from that home I sigh and say,—
O, green-hilled pleasant Erin, you're a dear land to me.
II
There's a tree by that streamlet in bright beauty shining,With green leaves and blossoms all brilliant and gay,
With the birds on its branches wild melodies twining,
Where I sat with my friends on each blithe summer day,
When the sunset clouds were glowing and the gentle kine were lowing,
And the perfumed airs were blowing around that blooming tree;
Tree or friends I'll ne'er see more by that murmuring streamlet's shore,
O, green-hilled pleasant Erin, you're a dear land to me.
| Ballads of Irish chivalry | |