Chapter CLXXVI: The Hills of Ireland

(_From the Irish_)

A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer,
_Uileacán dubh O!_
Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear,
_Uileacán dubh O!_
There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand,
And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fann’d,
There is dew at high noontide there, and springs i’ the yellow sand
On the fair hills of holy Ireland.

Curl’d he is and ringleted, and plaited to the knee,
_Uileacán dubh O!_
Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish Sea,
_Uileacán dubh O!_
And I will make my journey, if life and health but stand,
Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand,
And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and high command,
For the fair hills of holy Ireland.

_Sir Samuel Ferguson._

DAVIS