AN-EXILE'S HOPES

New Zealand Tablet, 24 July 1913, Page 43

AN-EXILE'S HOPES

Och! Health to thee, my Ireland, The home of shamrocks green. Och ! Luck to thee, dear Ireland, The sweetest land I've seen. Hibernia for ever ! Thy lads, their colleens fair ! God bless them ail and keep them From ev'ry wrong and care! Sure ! Soft the sun god smilin', Lifts up thy purple mist, And all my drowsy streamlets By his warm beams are kiss'd. Hibernia for ever! Thy hills, thy mountains high ! God guard that I may see them Once more before I die. Faith ! Rather than the angels Would I my Kathleen hear Sing passin' of a mornin' With voice so low, so clear. Hibernia for ever! Red cloaks and colleens true ! My darlin', smile! for Patrick Will come sailin' soon to you ! Whist! Down the night shades fallin', The banshee's wailin's rise ; Whist! Whom is he foretellin' Before the morning dies ? Hibernia for ever ! Thy fairies one and all, May they live on for ever, But, banshee, seldom call! Ah! Think, if I returnin' In hopes that I should wed : Ah ! Found, your honor banshee, My colleen lyin' dead ! Hibernia could never Relieve my cruel pain, So, banshee, whist! now, won't ye, Till I come home again ? Angela Hastings. Dunedin.