O, love is the soul of a true Irishman;
He loves all that's lovely, loves all that he can,
read more

O, love is the soul of a true Irishman;
He loves all that's lovely, loves all that he can,
With his sprig of shillelagh and shamrock so green.

Whether on the scaffold high
Or on the battle-field we die,
Oh, what matter, when for Erin read more

Whether on the scaffold high
Or on the battle-field we die,
Oh, what matter, when for Erin dear we fall.

Old Dublin City there is no doubtin'
Bates every city upon the say.
'Tis there you'd hear read more

Old Dublin City there is no doubtin'
Bates every city upon the say.
'Tis there you'd hear O'Connell spoutin'
And Lady Morgan making tay.
For 'tis the capital of the finest nation,
With charmin' pisintry upon a fruitful sod,
Fightin' like devils for conciliation,
And hatin' each other for the Love of God.

Dear Erin, how sweetly thy green bosom rises!
An emerald set in the ring of the sea.
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Dear Erin, how sweetly thy green bosom rises!
An emerald set in the ring of the sea.
Each blade of thy meadows my faithful heart prizes,
Thou queen of the west, the world's cushla ma chree.

For dear is the Emerald Isle of the ocean,
Whose daughters are fair as the foam of the wave,
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For dear is the Emerald Isle of the ocean,
Whose daughters are fair as the foam of the wave,
Whose sons unaccustom'd to rebel commotion,
Tho' joyous, are sober--tho' peaceful, are brave.

Th' an'am an Dhia, but there it is--
The dawn on the hills of Ireland.
God's angels read more

Th' an'am an Dhia, but there it is--
The dawn on the hills of Ireland.
God's angels lifting the night's black veil
From the fair sweet face of my sireland!
O Ireland, isn't it grand, you look
Like a bride in her rich adornin',
And with all the pent up love of my heart
I bid you the top of the morning.

We . . . are no petty people. We are one of the great stocks of
Burke; we are read more

We . . . are no petty people. We are one of the great stocks of
Burke; we are the people of Swift, the people of Emmet, the
people of Parnell. We have created most of the modern literature
of this country. We have created the best of its political
intelligence.

Every Irishman has a potatoe in his head.

Every Irishman has a potatoe in his head.

The groves of Blarney
They look so charming
Down by the purling
Of sweet, read more

The groves of Blarney
They look so charming
Down by the purling
Of sweet, silent brooks.