ORIGINAL POETRY. THE IRISH ESINOR ANT'S FAREWELL. I thee, dear Erin I my soul 's for thee mourning; My heart
... dwelt by our own Shannon's wave. 'Tin gold would net tempt me, though heaped without measure, To quit thy green fields, a far country to gain; But my soul's Indeperdence is now my sole treasure; And where I can't toil, there to beg I disdain! My heart it ...