Luyện nghe bài hát The Irish Stranger

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

With wonder I gazed on yon building,
As in grandeur I rose its lord,
But soon I my fair garden yielding
The of fruit for his foe.
But, where is my lone cottage of clay,
I' ve spent many a long day,
Alas ! has his lordship it away ?
Yes, it is gone, I shall see it more.

When was seen in the sloe 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 sung their loud echoing
These days then of summer passed along,
Now they're goneI shall ne'er see them !

When the sloe and the berries 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 my friends telling tales of delight,
the hours of the long winter's night,
Those days gave me could them invite ;
Now they're gone, I shall see them more.

Oh, Erin ! oh, Erin ! it me to ponder
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 whilst here I remain,
For the boys I ne'er see again.