While tyrants rule the land, Beneath the Irish skies;While e'er the iron hand Upon our people lies;While sons are driven forth In other lands to dwell,Still in the South and North Old Ireland will rebel!Rebel, rebel! Old Ireland will rebel!
While fanlike from below, And pale against the skies,That light of shame--the glow Of burning homes--shall rise;While hot indignant tears From Irish hearts shall swell--Be it a thousand years, Old Ireland will rebel!Rebel, rebel! Old Ireland will rebel!
Until the tyrant's rod Shall broken be in twain,And on the dear old sod Blest freedom treads again;Or till our masters learn To rule our country well,The fires of hate shall burn! Old Ireland will rebel!Rebel, rebel! Old Ireland will rebel!
Sources, publication & text notesReference details
Canonical recordPOEM-000344
Copy-textProject Gutenberg Australia, Collected Poems of Henry Lawson (2022), anchor p90; selected digital copy-text retained exactly; wording and layout confirmed against Ironbark Resources under D-180
While The Billy BoilsSearch