Luyện nghe bài hát The Irish Stranger

Pity the fate of a poor stranger,
wanders so far from his home,
That sighs for protection want, woe, and danger,
That knows not which way for to roam.
Yet I'll never return to Hibernia's 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 on yon lofty building,
As in grandeur I from its lord,
But soon I beheld my fair garden
The of fruit for his foe.
But, where is my lone cottage of clay,
Wherein I' ve spent a long day,
Alas ! has his conniv'd it away ?
Yes, it is gone, I shall see it more.

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

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

When the sloe and the berries hung on the bushes
I have gathered them off harm
I have gone to the field and shorn the rushes,
for winter's cold storm !
Along with my friends tales of delight,
Beguiling the of the long winter's night,
Those days gave me pleasureI could invite ;
Now they're gone, I shall ne'er see more.

Oh, Erin ! oh, ! it grieves me to ponder
The wrongs of thy injurned !
Of thy sons may a thousand home do wander
On far away an exile !
But give me the power to the main,
Calumbia might yield me shelter from pain,
I am only whilst here I remain,
For the boys I shall see again.