I Am Of Ireland

 'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.

'Come out of charity,
Come dance with me in Ireland.
'

One man, one man alone
In that outlandish gear,
One solitary man
Of all that rambled there
Had turned his stately head.

That is a long way off,
And time runs on,' he said,
'And the night grows rough.
'

'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.

'Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland.
'

'The fiddlers are all thumbs,
Or the fiddle-string accursed,
The drums and the kettledrums
And the trumpets all are burst,
And the trombone,' cried he,
'The trumpet and trombone,'
And cocked a malicious eye,
'But time runs on, runs on.
'

I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.

"Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland.
'

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