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THE LAND WHERE THE SHAMROCKS GROW I'll sing tonight of a fairyland in the lap of the ocean set, And of all the lands I've travelled in, it's the fairest that I've met. Where the willows weep and the roses creep and the balmy breezes blow. In that dear old land, that sweet old land. The land where the shamrocks grow. I'll sing tonight of that lonely churchyard where my father's bones are laid. Where the cloister stands, those ruins grand that our bloody foes have made. I'll strike the harp with mournful dirge 'til the glittering tears they flow. In that dear old land, that sweet old land. The land where the shamrocks grow. I'll sing tonight of those heroes bold who sailed across the main. Transported to a foreign land to wear an iron chain. For four and twenty long, lone years those men were forced to roam. Far from that land, that dear old land. The land where the shamrocks grow. But och! Alas, how can I sing? 'tis a convicts last refrain. And the lovely land of my love and youth I ne'er will see again. In a convict's grave in Van Dieman's land they'll lay my body down. Far from that land, that dear old land. The land where the shamrocks grow. tune: "Star of the County Down" @Irish @emigrate @nostalgia filename[ SHAMGROW TUNE FILE: STARDOWN CLICK TO PLAY AB |
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