Luyện nghe bài hát The Irish Stranger

Pity the fate of a poor stranger,
That so far from his home,
That for protection from want, woe, and danger,
That not from which way for to roam.
Yet never return to Hibernia's green bowers,
For tramples the sweetest of flowers,
That once gave me in loneliest hours
Now they are gone I shall see them more.

With wonder I on yon lofty building,
As in grandeur I rose its lord,
But soon I beheld my garden yielding
The choicest of for his foe.
But, where is my father's lone of clay,
Wherein I' ve spent a long day,
Alas ! has his lordship it away ?
Yes, it is gone, I never see it more.

When nature was seen in the bush and bramble,
All smiling in bloom,
the fields without danger, I often
Did ramble amidst their ;
I have wranged through the where the gay feather'd

Joyfully their loud echoing song
days then of summer passed sweetly along,
Now they're goneI shall ne'er see them !

When the sloe and the hung ripe on the bushes
I have gathered them off harm
I have gone to the field and the green rushes,
Preparing for winter's cold !
Along my friends telling tales of delight,
Beguiling the hours of the winter's night,
Those days gave me pleasureI could them ;
Now they're gone, I ne'er see them more.

Oh, Erin ! oh, Erin ! it grieves me to
The wrongs of thy injurned !
Of thy sons may a from home do wander
On shores far an exile !
But give me the to cross the main,
Calumbia might yield me some from pain,
I am only lamenting whilst I remain,
For the I shall ne'er see again.