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voices from the old world.
Ah, they too gaze, with dim, sad eyes,
Out o'er the western main!—
While there are beating woman-hearts
They shall not gaze in vain!
We rest not till we minister
To their despairing need;
Give, give!—O Heaven, who would not give
When Scotia's daughters plead?
Out o'er the western main!—
While there are beating woman-hearts
They shall not gaze in vain!
We rest not till we minister
To their despairing need;
Give, give!—O Heaven, who would not give
When Scotia's daughters plead?
A voice from Erin's storied isle
Comes sweeping o'er the main!
Ha! calls she on her sons to strike
For freedom once again?
Or rises from her heart of fire
The pealing voice of song,
Or rolls the tide of eloquence
The burdened air along?
Or, ringeth out some lay of love,
By blue-eyed maidens sung,
Or, sweeter, dearer music yet,
The laughter of the young?
Comes sweeping o'er the main!
Ha! calls she on her sons to strike
For freedom once again?
Or rises from her heart of fire
The pealing voice of song,
Or rolls the tide of eloquence
The burdened air along?
Or, ringeth out some lay of love,
By blue-eyed maidens sung,
Or, sweeter, dearer music yet,
The laughter of the young?
Far other is that fearful voice,
A sound of woe and dread!
A sound of woe and dread!
