IV.
If O'Connor my right should deny, sir,
To "do what I like with my own!"
For the rascal I've soon a reply, sir,
Into gaol for "sedition" he's thrown—
Into gaol for "sedition" he's thrown!
The Tariff is bringing rents down—
Yet more cash from the farmer I'll squeeze;
And, for fear of being shot, come to town
To drink, game, and intrigue, at my ease!
For I am the poor man's scourge!
For I am the poor man's scourge!
(Chorus of the Editors of The Nation)
Yes, you are the poor man's scourge,
But of such the whole island we'll purge.
SONG OF THE UNITED IRISHMEN.
Air—"The Siege of Belleisle."
I.
'Tis the green—oh, the green is the colour of the true,
And we'll back it 'gainst the orange, and we'll raise it o'er the blue!
For the colour of our fatherland alone should here be seen—
'Tis the colour of the martyr'd dead—our own immortal green;
Then up for the green, boys, and up for the green!
Oh, 'tis down to the dust, and a shame to be seen;
But we've hands—oh, we've hands, boys, full strong enough, I ween,
To rescue and to raise again our own immortal green!
II.
They may say they have power 'tis vain to oppose—
