When the moonlight’s on the mounta… And the gloom is on the glen, At the cross beside the fountain There is one will meet thee then. At the cross beside the fountain;

By fate’s benevolent award, Should I survive the day, I’ll drink a bumper with my lord Upon the last of May. That I may reach that happy time

Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight: Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight. Hark! a cry of triumph shrill

Ye Genii of the nation, Who look with veneration. And Ireland’s desolation onsaysin… Ye sons of General Jackson, Who thrample on the Saxon,

As I think of the insult that’s d… Red tears of rivinge from me fatur… And uphold in this pome, to the wo… The sleeves that appointed PRO… I look round me counthree, renowne…

Some love the matin-chimes, which… The hour of prayer to sinner: But better far’s the mid-day bell, Which speaks the hour of dinner; For when I see a smoking fish,

O TIM, did you hear of thim Saxo… And read what the peepers report? They’re goan to recal the Liftina… And shut up the Castle and Coort! Our desolate counthry of Oireland…

First I saw the white bear, then… Then I saw the camel with a hump… Then I saw the grey wolf, with mu… Then I saw the wombat waddle in t… Then I saw the elephant a-waving…

How spake of old the Royal Seer? (His text is one I love to treat… This life of ours he said is sheer Mataiotes Mataioteton. O Student of this gilded Book,

There lived a sage in days of yore… And he a handsome pigtail wore; But wondered much and sorrowed mor… Because it hung behind him. He mused upon this curious case,

An igstrawnary tail I vill tell y… I stood in the Court of A’Becket… Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I… Who charged Mary Brown with a rob… This Mary was pore and in misery…

Before I lost my five poor wits, I mind me of a Romish clerk, Who sang how Care, the phantom da… Beside the belted horseman sits. Methought I saw the grisly sprite

Now the toils of day are over, And the sun hath sunk to rest, Seeking, like a fiery lover, The bosom of the blushing west— The faithful night keeps watch and…

Know ye the willow-tree Whose gray leaves quiver, Whispering gloomily To yon pale river; Lady, at even-tide

For the sole edification Of this decent congregation, Goodly people, by your grant I will sing a holy chant— I will sing a holy chant.