Luyện nghe bài hát The Irish Stranger

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

With wonder I gazed on yon building,
As in grandeur I from its lord,
But I beheld my fair garden yielding
The of fruit for his foe.
But, is my father's lone cottage of clay,
Wherein I' ve many a long day,
Alas ! has his lordship conniv'd it ?
Yes, it is gone, I shall see it more.

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

Joyfully sung their echoing song
These days then of summer sweetly along,
Now they're goneI shall ne'er see more !

When the sloe and the berries ripe on the bushes
I have gathered them off harm
I gone to the field and shorn 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 ne'er see more.

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