Luyện nghe bài hát The Irish Stranger

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

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

When nature was seen in the sloe and bramble,
All smiling in bloom,
Over the fields without danger, I
Did ramble amidst perfume ;
I have wranged the woods where the gay feather'd

Joyfully sung their loud song
These then of summer passed sweetly along,
Now they're shall ne'er see them more !

When the sloe and the hung ripe on the bushes
I have gathered off without harm
I have gone to the field and the green rushes,
Preparing for winter's storm !
Along with my friends telling of delight,
Beguiling the of the long winter's night,
Those gave me pleasureI could them invite ;
Now they're gone, I shall see them more.

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