Crittenden press. [volume] (Marion, Ky.) 1879-1907, 1903-05-28
BOB TAyLOR'S
Beautiful Tribute 10 the Sons
Of ireland.

HoIo, q Il Wouiu mtho ~ . uBuiO VI
an lrishmsn sacrificing his hopes
and his life on the altar of his
country, and would carve on the
pedestal the name Of Emmett.
If were painter would make
the canvass eloquent with the
deeds of the brcyest people who
ever lived, whose proud spirit no
power can break, and whose loyal
ty and devotion to the home of
the free government no tyrant can
ever crush. And / wosld write
under the picture, Ireland.
If were poet, l would melt
the world to tears with the pathos
of my song. l would touch the
heart of humanity with the mourn
full threnody of Irsland's wrongs
and Erin's woes. would weave
the shamrock and the rose into
garlands of glory for the Emerald
isles, the land of martyrs and mem
cries, the cradle Of heroes, the
nursery of liberty.
Tortured in dungeons and muir.
dered on scaffolds, robbed of the
fruits of their sweat and toll.
scourged by famine and plumber
Cd by avsrice Of heartlsss power,
driven like the leaves of autumn
before the keen winter winds, this
sturdy race of Erin's sons and
daughters have been scattered
over the face of the earth, home
less only in the land of their ma.
tivity, but princes and lords in
every other land where merit has
been the measure of manhood.
Where 10 the battlefield that hes
not been gls'i6sd by Irish courage
and baptized with Irish blood ?
And where is the free country
whose oounsels have not been
strengthened by Irish brains, and
whose wealth has not been increa.
sed by Irish Drawn.
Wherever the flag of war flut.
tiers, the spirit of Irish chivalry is
there, painting for the battle and
eager for the charge. Whether
it be Wellington leading the ALI.
cd armies at Waterloo, or Nsy, fol
lowing the eagles of France, whe-
Their it be Sam Houston crushing
the armies of Santa Anna at San
Jacinto or Davy Crockett counting
death at the Alamo, " neither it DO
Andrew jackson at New Orleans
or Stonewali jackson at Chancsl.
iors'i lille, whether it bs Phil Sher.
idan, riding like a war god in the
thickest of the fight, or Pat Gle.
burn leading forlorn hope and
dying at the cannon's mouth on
the breastworks of the foe, it is
the same intrepid, unconq uerabls
spirit of sublime courage which
flows like stream of inspiration
from the heart of Old Ireland
TO burn forever on the affairs of
liberty.
Wherever the flag of peace is
unturled over the progressive Eu-
glish speaking nations of the earth
this same irresistible Celtic blood
has ever been present, shaping
the destiny of empires and rspub-
lies.
1t warmed the heart of Edmund
Burke, whose brain was mighty
loom which wove tapestries of glo
ry for England and mankind. It
inspired the souls of Swift and
Sheridan, whose dream will lingsr
in English literature forever, like
fragrance of roses that are faded
and gone. IT lighted up the brain
of Oliver Goldsmith, who broke
out in songs sweeter than songs of
the nightingale. 1t kindled the
soul of Tom Moore into flames and
like an angel of light from the
roalm of dreams he swept the bur-
ming strings of Erin's harp, and
10! the whole world thrilled with
its melody. The body of Tom
Moore was dust long ago, but his
spirit still lives in his songs, and
hralhes more hoLe ~ every hu.
rran heart, and hap )in-ss in every
rush home.
If wrr. asksd why my Son'b.