JACOBITE RELICS.
79
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
