John Banim

(1798-1842 / Ireland)

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Best Poem of John Banim

The Irish Soldier

The Irish soldier, cast for fight,
Stood to his arms at dead of night,
Watching the east, until its ray
To the battle--field should show his way;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though they call you slave,
And though you but help a bandit hand
Uncheck'd to kill in your native land.

The soldier thought on his chance of doom--
How the trampled sod might be his tomb--
How, in evening's dusk, his sightless stare
To the small pale stars might upward glare;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though you think of the ...

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The Irish Priest’s Song

[Note: Air--``The Brown Irish Girl;'' Or, ``By the lake whose gloomy shore.'']

Men who for the land do toil,
Humble brethren of our soil,
Charms or spells we did not wind
O'er your independent mind;
Priestly frown, or bigot threat,
From your priests ye have not met;
True, we call'd ye forth--what then!

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