The sun was fair the clouds advanced,
When a convict came to the Isle of France,
Around his leg he wore a ring and chain,
And his country was of the Shamrock green.
Then the coast-guard waited all on the beach,
Till the convict's boat was in the reach,
The convict's chains did so shire and spark,
Which opened the viens of the caust-guard's heart.
Then the coast-guard launced his little boat,
Upon the ocean with him to float;
The birds at night, take their silent, rest,
But the convict, here has a wounded breast.
Then the coast-guard came to the Isle of France,
Towards him the convict did advance,
When the tears from his eyes did fall like rain,
Young man I hear you're of the Shamrock green.
I am a Shamrock, the convict cried,
That has been tossed on the ocean wide,
For being unruly I do declare,
I was doomed to transport for seven years.
When six of them were past and gone,
We were coming home to make up one,
When the stormy winds did blow and roar,
Which cast me here on a foreign shore.
Then the coast-guard played a noble part,
With some brandy he cheered the convict's heart,
Altho' the night is so far advanced.
You shall find a friend in the Isle of France.
Then a speedy letter went to the Queen,
About the dreadful shipwreck of the Shamrock green
Then his freedom came by a speedy post,
To the absent convict they thought was lost.
God bless the coast-guard, the convict cried,
You have saved my life from the ocean wide,
I will drink his health in a flowing glass,
So here's success to the Isle of France.
Come all you sons of Erin,
Who love your native soil;
I claim your kind attention,
Just for a little while;
Come and join the Home Rule movement,
Irishmen on every hand,
And very soon we'll have Home Rule
In poor Old Ireland.
We've got some noble heroes,
To advocate our cause,
And we know that Ireland is oppress'd
By cruel English laws.
There's Mr. Butt, our noble chief,
Determined aye to stand,
And do his best to free the sons
Of poor Old Ireland.
There's John Martin, Sir G. Bowyer,
There's Sullivan and Shee,
Dr. Cummins, Galbraith, and many more
Who one and all agree,
That England has no right to rule
Or govern Erin's shore ,
Let Irishmen make Irish laws,
And they'll ask for nothing more.
There's Gladstone', the late Prime Minister
Who the Irish Church Bill planned,
Thinking that it would satisfy
The sons of Paddy's land ;
But Paddy wants to rule himself,
And be free from all his foes,
Then the sun of happiness would shine
Where the little shamrock grows.
The Americans and Frenchmen
All sympathise, and say
That Ireland should have Home Rule,
And hope to see the day,
When Ireland as a nation,
Will be powerful and free,
And in the full enjoyment
Of Home Rule and Liberty.
Long life to Butt! he's worthy of
All Irishman's applause,
Like noble Dan that's dead and gone,
His heart lies in our cause
In the British House of Commons,
Mr. Butt and his noble band
Will struggle hard for Home Rule,
And the rights of Ireland.
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Probable date published:
1870 shelfmark: L.C.1270(009)
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