Island of bitter memories, thickly sown From winding Boyne to Limerick's treaty-stone, Green Wexford to the glens of Donegal, Through sad six hundred years of hostile sway, From Strongbow fierce to cunning Castlereagh! These will not melt and vanish in a day. These can yet sting the patriot thoughts which turn To Erin's past, and bid them weep and burn.