ST. PATRICK AND THE IRISH.

:

AN

ORATION,

PRONOUNCED BEFORE THE

HIBERNIAN PROVIDENT SOCIETY,

OF

NEW HAVEN,

MARCH 17, 1842.

BY

WILLIAM ERIGENA ROBINSON, A. B.

PUBLISHED AT THE REQUEST OF THE SOCIETY.

NEW HAVEN:

PRINTED BY HITCHCOCK & STAFFORD.

For sale by S. Babcock, New Haven; Belknap & Hamersley, Hartford; Casserly & Sons, 108
Nassau street, New York; Babcock & Co., Charleston, S. C.; at Barlow's Bookstore, Schenec-
tady; Gough's Exchange, Albany; at the Bookstores in Utica; and the Pilot Office, Boston.

MDCCCXLII.

BERNARD REILLY, President.

PATRICK MURPHY, Vice President.

JOHN GREEN, Secretary.

MICHAEL COGAN, Treasurer.

W. E. Robinson and several others are honorary members of the Society. The names of

the active members only, are inserted in this list.

REMARKS.

THE Society before which the following Oration was delivered, was organized, by a few Irishmen resident in New Haven, on the 25th of January, 1841. On the 3d of February following, a Constitution and By-Laws were read and adopted; and on the 17th of the same month, officers of the Society were chosen. At the funeral solemnities in memory of our lamented President HARRISON, the Society made its first public appearance, April 17th, 1841, and attracted much attention, as it was the first Hibernian Society ever seen in New Haven. The newspapers of our city praised its appearance, and JAMES G. PERCIVAL, Esq., wrote the following lines, accompanied by some complimentary remarks, which were published in the New Haven Daily Herald, of April 20th, with the exception of the last stanza, which he afterwards furnished to Mr. Robinson. They are here copied complete, and show the cordiality with which the poet speaks the language of the Irish emigrant.

O! Erin, green gem, that lies all in the sea,
So rich in paratys, and warm Irish hearts;
When I think that a jewel, so rare, isn't free,
The tear of regret from my full bosom starts.

O! there is the home of my childhood, the spot

Where I first dug the turf by the side of the moor:
Though humble and rude was my father's low cot,

To the stranger stood open his heart and his door.

And that home of my childhood shall ne'er be forgot;
Of its green sod I'll think, while my green badge I wear:

O! I wish they'd as free and as happy a lot,

The friends I left under the Sassenagh there.

God's blessing be on thee, my own native isle;

Ever fresh be thy Shamrock, and stout thy Shillelagh :
May the green flag of Union soon over thee smile,
And every true Irish heart under it rally.