The Wearing Of The Green
|Versione Wolfe Tones|
|THE WEARING OF THE GREEN|
O Paddy dear, an' did ye hear the news that's goin' round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground;
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen,
For there's a cruel law agin the wearin' o' the Green.
I met wid Napper Tandy and he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's dear ould Ireland, and how does she stand?"
She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen,
For they're hangin' men an' women there for the wearin' o' the Green.
Then since the colour we must wear is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed,
You may take a shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,
It will take root and flourish there though underfoot it's trod.
When law can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow,
And when the leaves in summer-time their colour dare not show,
Then will I change the colour, too, I wear in my caubeen
But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearin' o' the Green.
But if at last our colour should be torn from Ireland's heart,
Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old isle will part;
I've heard a whisper of a land that lies beyond the sea
Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom's day.
O Erin, must we leave you driven by a tyrant's hand?
Must we ask a mother's blessing from a strange and distant land?
Where the cruel cross of England shall nevermore be seen,
And where, please God, we'll live and die still wearin' o' the green!
Oh, Paddy dear and did you hear
The news that's going round?
The shamrock is by law forbid
To grow on Irish ground!
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep(1),
His color can't be seen,
For they're hanging men and women(2)
For wearing of the green."
I met with Napper Tandy(3)
And he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's poor old Ireland
And how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country
That you ever I have seen;
They're hanging men and women
For wearing of the green."
For the wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
They're hanging men and women(2)
for the wearing of the green.
Then since the color we must wear
Is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget
The blood that they have shed.
You may take the shamrock from your hat,
And cast it on the sod(4),
But it'll take root and flourish there,
Tho' under foot it's trod.
My father loved his country,
and sleeps within her breast,
While I that would have died for her,
may never be so blest;
Those tears my mother shed for me,
how bitter they'd have been
If I had proved a traitor
to "The wearing of the green."
But if, at last, her colors should
be torn from Ireland's heart
Her sons, with shame and sorrow,
from the dear old soil will part;
I've heard whispers of a land
that lies far beyond sea,
Where rich and poor stand equal,
in the light of Freedom's day!
O Erin! must we leave you driven
by the tyrant's hand!
Must we ask a Mother's blessing,
in a strange but happy land,
Where the cruel Cross of England's
thralldom never to be seen:
But where, thank God! we'll live and die,
still Wearing of the Green!