John Banim Poems

The Irish soldier, cast for fight,
Stood to his arms at dead of night,
Watching the east, until its ray
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Now welcome, welcome, baby--boy, unto a mother's fears,
The pleasure of her sufferings, the rainbow of her t ...
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Ours is no quarrel that will not be ended--
Ours are not hearts to hate on to the las ...
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From my proper clime and subjects,
In my hot and swarthy East,
North and Westward I am coming
For a conquest and a feast-
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Am I the slave they say,
Soggarth aroon?
Since you did show the way,
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Sir Shamrock, sitting drinking,
At close of day, at close of day,
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Men who for the land do toil,
Humble brethren of our soil,
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Yes! discord's hand to the last it was
In every field of our story,
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OSSIAN. Man of prayers, lead me forth
From our silent cell of care,
The morning--breeze to me is worth
All thy hymns and all thy prayer--
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And yet beneath that happy sky,
Was heard one ever--during sigh,
One heart of sadness there was known,
One voice of sorrow wept alone,
...