Every night at Currabwee Little men with leather hats Mend the boots of Faery From the tough wings of the bats. So my mother told to me, And she is wise you will agree. . Louder than a cricket's wing All night long their hammer's glee Times the merry songs they sing Of Ireland glorious and free. So I heard Joseph Plunkett say, You know he heard them but last May. And when the night is very cold They warm their hands against the light Of stars that make the waters gold Where they are labouring all the night. So Pearse said, and he knew the truth, Among the stars he spent his youth. And I, myself, have often heard Their singing as the stars went by, For am I not of those who reared The banner of old Ireland high, From Dublin town to Turkey's shores, And where the Vardar loudly roars?
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