The Wearing Of The Green
Anonymous
| Original | Versione Wolfe Tones |
| THE WEARING OF THE GREEN Oh, Paddy dear, did you hear The news that's going round? The shamrock is forbid by law To grow on Irish ground! St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep, His color can't be seen, For there's a bloomin' law against The wearing of the green. The wearing of the green, Oh! The wearing of the green. There's a bloomin' law against the wearing of the green. I met with Napper Tandy And he took me by the hand, And he said, "How's poor old Ireland And how does she stand?" "She's the most distressful country That ever yet was seen; They're hanging men and women there For wearing of the green." The wearing of the green, Oh! The wearing of the green. They're hanging men and women for the wearing of the green. Then since the color we must wear Is England's cruel red, Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget The blood that they have shed. You may take the shamrock from your hat, And cast it on the sod, But it'll take root and flourish still, Tho' under foot it's trod. The wearing of the green, Oh! The wearing of the green. There's a bloomin' law against the wearing of the green. When the law can stop the blades of green From growing as they grow, And when the leaves in summertime Their verdue dare not show, Then I will change the color that I Wear in my caubeen; But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick To wearing of the green. The wearing of the green, Oh! The wearing of the green. 'Till that day, please God, I'll stick To wearing of the green. | THE WEARING OF THE GREEN Oh, Paddy dear and did you hear The news that's going round? The shamrock is by law forbid To grow on Irish ground! St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep(1), His color can't be seen, For they're hanging men and women(2) For wearing of the green." I met with Napper Tandy(3) And he took me by the hand, And he said, "How's poor old Ireland And how does she stand?" "She's the most distressful country That you ever I have seen; They're hanging men and women For wearing of the green." For the wearing of the green, Oh! The wearing of the green. They're hanging men and women(2) for the wearing of the green. Then since the color we must wear Is England's cruel red, Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget The blood that they have shed. You may take the shamrock from your hat, And cast it on the sod(4), But it'll take root and flourish there, Tho' under foot it's trod. My father loved his country, and sleeps within her breast, While I that would have died for her, may never be so blest; Those tears my mother shed for me, how bitter they'd have been If I had proved a traitor to "The wearing of the green." But if, at last, her colors should be torn from Ireland's heart Her sons, with shame and sorrow, from the dear old soil will part; I've heard whispers of a land that lies far beyond sea, Where rich and poor stand equal, in the light of Freedom's day! O Erin! must we leave you driven by the tyrant's hand! Must we ask a Mother's blessing, in a strange but happy land, Where the cruel Cross of England's thralldom never to be seen: But where, thank God! we'll live and die, still Wearing of the Green! |
