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Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

Mary Eva Kelly


WERE you ever in sweet Tipperary, where the fields are so sunny and green,

And the heath-brown Slieve-bloom and the Galtees look down with so proud a mien?

’T is there you would see more beauty than is on all Irish ground—

God bless you, my sweet Tipperary! for where could your match be found?

They say that your hand is fearful, that darkness is in your eye;

But I ’ll not let them dare to talk so black and bitter a lie.

O, no! macushla storin, bright, bright, and warm are you,

With hearts as bold as the men of old, to yourself and your country true.

And when there is gloom upon you, bid them think who brought it there—

Sure a frown or a word of hatred was not made for your face so fair;

You ’ve a hand for the grasp of friendship—another to make them quake,

And they ’re welcome to whichsoever it pleases them to take.

Shall our homes, like the huts of Connaught, be crumbled before our eyes?

Shall we fly, like a flock of wild geese, from all that we love and prize?

No! by those that were here before us, no churl shall our tyrant be,

Our land it is theirs by plunder—but, by Brigid, ourselves are free!

No! we do not forget the greatness did once to sweet Eiré belong;

No treason or craven spirit was ever our race among;

And no frown or word of hatred we give—but to pay them back;

In evil we only follow our enemies’ darksome track.

O, come for awhile among us and give us the friendly hand!

And you ’ll see that old Tipperary is a loving and gladsome land;

From Upper to Lower Ormonde, bright welcomes and smiles will spring:

On the plains of Tipperary the stranger is like a king.