Irish Minstrelsy/Volume 2/Part 3/The Fair Hills of Ireland
THE FAIR HÍLLS OF IRELAND.1
BY JOHN D'ALTON.
Erin's the land of hospitable cheer,
The day I left her was a day of woe;
There golden plenty crowns the labourer's year,2
And shadowy glens with balmy honey flow.
Fair are her wood-land paths and murmuring rills.
Sweet is the stream that from each rock distils,
Bright are the dew-drops glistening on her hills,
Land of my heart! O Uileacan Dubh O!
Mark her throng'd exiles lingering on their decks.
Their eyes still kindling with the hero's glow;
The glossy ringlets curling down their necks,
Have wrung reluctant praises from the foe.3
Land of Gadelians! Region of delight!
Years shall not hold me from thy genial sight;
Though rich and great the country of my flight,
I sigh for Erin, Uileacan Dubh O!
Sweetly her new-mown meadows scent the gales,
Large are the corn-ricks her full bawns can show;
Happy the herds that through her dewy vales.
And clover pastures linger blithe and slow.
Sorrel and cresses each fond stream delay,
Cuckoos their notes of love speak all the day.
While thrushes pour forth from each quivering spray.
Their warbling songs, O Uileacan Dubh O!