But vainly spent were storm and shock On that deathless seed, that living rockThe isle is filled with the brave old stock, And they've worth and wealth around them!

When fire and sword had done thefr

parts,

Then tried those foes their baser arts
By dark degrees to change the hearts
That never would yield or falter;
But now, as in the days of old,
The Irish heart is native gold,
Cast in the glorious heaven-made mould,
No power on earth can alter !

And if good work is yet undone,
If rights remain yet to be won,
As sure as the rising of the sun,
"T will be the same proud story,
Till ends the strife in Liberty,
Till stands the race redeemed and free,
And all the isle from sea to sea

Is one bright field of glory!

SONG FROM THE BACKWOODS.
AIR-We'll never get drunk again.

DEEP in Canadian woods we've met,
From one bright island flown;
Great is the land we tread, but yet
Our hearts are with our own.
And ere we leave the shanty small,
While fades the autumn day,
We'll toast Old Ireland!
Dear Old Ireland!

Ireland, boys, Hurra!

We've heard her faults a hundred times, The new ones and the old,

In songs and sermons, rants and rhymes, Enlarged some fifty fold.

But take them all, the great and small, And this we've got to say :—

Here's dear Old Ireland!

Good Old Ireland!

Ireland, boys, Hurra !

We know that brave and good men tried
To suap her rusty chain,

That patriots suffered, martyrs died,
And all, 't is said, in vaiu;

But no, boys, no! a glance will show
How far they've won their way—-

Here's good Old Ireland !
Loved Old Ireland !

Ireland, boys, Hurra!

We've seen the wedding and the wake, The patron and the fair;

The stuff they take, the fun they make, And the heads they break down there, With a loud "hurroo" and a pillalu," And a thundering "clear the way!" Here's gay Old Ireland!

Dear Old Ireland !

Ireland, boys, Hurra!

And well we know in the cool gray eves, When the hard day's work is o'er, How soft and sweet are the words that greet

66

The friends who meet once more; With Mary machree !" and " My Pat!" 't is he !"

And "My own heart night and day !"
Ah, fond Old Ireland!

Dear Old Ireland !

Ireland, boys, Hurra!

And happy and bright are the groups that pass

From their peaceful homes, for miles O'er fields, and roads, and hills, to Mass, When Sunday morning smiles!

And deep the zeal their true hearts feel
When low they kneel and pray.
Oh, dear Old Ireland !
Blest Old Ireland!

Ireland, boys, Hurra!

But deep in Canadian woods we've met, And we never may see again

The dear old isle where our hearts are set,

And our first fond hopes remain !
But come, fill up another cup,
And with every sup let's say-
Here's loved Old Ireland!
Good Old Ireland!
Ireland, boys, Hurra!

I'M VERY HAPPY WHERE I AM.

A PEASANT WOMAN'S SONG. 1864.
DION BOUCICAULT.*

I'm very happy where I am,
Far across the say,

* An Irish-American, author of the popular drama The Colleen Bawn "from Gerald Griffin's Irish

novel of "The Collegians."

I'm very happy far from home,
In North Amerikay.

It's only in the night, when Pat
Is sleeping by my side,

I lie awake, and no one knows
The big tears that I've cried;

For a little voice, still calls me back
To my far, far counthrie,
And nobody can hear it spake,
Oh! nobody but me.

There is a little spot of ground
Behind the chapel wall,
It's nothing but a tiny mound,
Without a stone at all;

It rises like my heart just now,
It makes a dawny hill;

It's from below the voice comes out,
I cannot kape it still.

Oh! little voice; ye call me back
To my far, far counthrie,

And nobody can hear ye spake,
Oh! nobody but me.