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Raise Your Glasses and call up the truth and wisdom of all of the Brave Celts who have gone before:

The Toasts of Ireland

May you be poor in misfortune Rich in blessings Slow to make enemies Quick to make friends But rich or poor, quick or slow, May you know nothing but happiness From this day forward

May the face of every good news and the back of every bad news be toward us.

Like the goodness of the five loaves and two fishes, Which God divided among the five thousand men, May the blessing of the king who so divided be upon our share of this common meal.

May the road rise to meet you may the wind be always at your back the sun shine warm upon your face the rain fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again may God hold you in the hollow of his hand.

May the roof above us never fall in, and may we friends gathered below never fall out.

May the strength of three be in your journey.

May peace and plenty be the first to lift the latch on your door and happiness be guided to your home by the candle of Christmas.

In the New Year may your right hand always be strong

St. Patrick was a gentleman who through strategy and stealth drove all the snakes from Ireland Here'sa toasting to his health. But not too many toastings lest you loose yourself and then forget the good St. Patrick and see all those snakes again.

May there be a fox on your fishing hook and a hare on your bait and may you kill no fish until St. Brigid's Day.

The health of the salmon and of the trout that swim back and forward near the bulls mouth Dont ask for saucepan jug or mug down the hatch drink it up.

Here'sto you and yours and to mine and ours and if mine and ours ever come across you and yours I hope you and yours will do as much for mine and ours as mine and ours have done for you and yours.

May you have warm words on a cold evening a full moon on a dark night and the road downhill all the way to your door.

May there be a generation of children on the children of your children.

Here's that we may always have a clean shirt a clean conscience and a guinea in our pocket.

Here's a health to your enemies enemies.

Here'shealth and prosperity to you and all your posterity and them that doesn't drink with sincerity that they may be damned for all eternity.

Rye bread will do you good Barley bread will do you no harm, wheaten bread will sweeten your blood, oaten bread will strengthen your arm.

May you live to be a hundred years with one extra year to repent.

May I see you grey and combing your children's hair.

Health and long life to you, the woman of your choice to you,a child every year to you,land without rent to you and may you die in Ireland.

The health of the salmon to you a long life, a  full heart and a wet mouth.

May the grass grow long on the road to hell for want of use.

May the lord keep you in his hand and never close his fist too tight on you.


From Irish Toasts by Charles Welsh, 1908

Irish wit, Irish eloquence, Irish
patriotism, Irish hospitality, and the
Irishman's high admiration and respect
for woman are famous the world over.
This collection of Irish Toasts and
Sentiments contains the cream of it all.
Ready-witted as every Irishman is,
he will be glad to have this little reminder
of the right things to say on
the right occasion. Here are Toasts
Patriotic, Convivial and Humorous,
Toasts to Love, to Women and to
Friendship and a miscellaneous garland
of sentiments from which the
bright flowers may be plucked at will
or as the occasion serves.
And with all Irishmen all the world
over the compiler lifts his glass with
the sentiment we all so ardently love, "
Erin slain the gal go bragh!"

A greeting and a promise unto them
all we send;
Their character our charter is, their
glory is our end, -
Their friend shall be our friend, our
foe whoe'er assails
The glory or the story of the sea-
divided Gaels
One in name and in fame
Are the sea-divided Gaels.
A high Post to the enemies of Quid
All hail fairest land in Neptune's old
ocean !
Thou land of St. Patrick, my
Ireland agra !
Cold, — cold must the heart be, and
void of emotion

That loves not the music of Erin
go bragh!
Americans and Irishmen — They
may differ as to whether the patron
saint of the latter had any hand in
driving out the enemies .of the former -
but in this they will agree — to
stand together and fall together, before
a hostile foot shall again be
placed on the land of their birth or
the land of their adoption.
And when at last in death we're laid
ashes to ashes gone,
When earth and faction cease for
us, and we are all alone,
The mantle that our mother spreads
above our grave I ween
Is still the color of our land, our
own sad, lonely green.

A priestly train, o'er the briny main
Shall greet my love,
And wine of Spain to thy health will
My Ros geal dubh.
Arch of the ocean and Queen of
the West!
Be bold, united, firmly set,
Nor flinch in word or tone —
We'll be a glorious nation yet,
Redeemed — erect — alone!
Bless the country, say I, that gave
Patrick his birth,
Bless the land of the oak, and its
neighboring earth,
Where grow the shillelah and shamrock
so gree-n !

IVIay the sons of the Thames, the
Tweed, and the Shannon,
Drub the foes who dare plant on our
confines a cannon;
United and happy, at Loyalty's shrine,
May the rose, and the thistle long
flourish and twine
Round the sprig of shillelah and
shamrock so green!
Buried and cold when my heart stills
her motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest Isle of
the ocean,
And thy harp striking bards sing
aloud with emotion,
Erin mavourneen ! Erin go bragh !
But come, fill up another cup,
And with every sup we'll say,

Here's dear Old Ireland!
Loved Old Ireland !
Ireland, boys, hurrah! "
But whether on the scaffold high,
Or in the battle's van,
The fittest place where man can die
Is where he dies for man !
Come! pledge again thy heart and
hand —
One grasp that ne'er shall sever;
Our watchword be — " Our native
Our motto — " Love forever! "
Daniel O'Connell — Athens boasted
of a Solon, an Aristides and a Demosthenes,
but Ireland beholds all their

great qualities combined in her favorite
Daniel O'Connell: the enemy of
corruption, the champion of his injured
country and the defender and
asserter of its rights and liberties.
Dear Erin, how sweetly thy green
bosom rises,
An emerald set in the ring of the sea ;
Each blade of thy meadows my
faithful heart prizes,
Thou queen of the West, the world's
Cushla-ma-chree I
Down with the tyrants, and up
with the green and gold!

Erin the land of potatoes; may
it never lack butter-milk.
Erin the land of the brave and the
Erin ! thy silent tear shall never cease
Erin! thy languid smile shall ne'er
Till, like the rainbow's light
Thy varied tints unite,
And form in Heaven's sight
One arch of Peace.
Erin's friend; may his name live
for ever.
Flag of beauty, flag of splendor,
May old Erin's sons defend her
Till thy folds shall float above her

Free as shines the noonday sun:
Till the hated links that bind her
Shall with seorn be flung behind her,
Till fair freedom smiles upon her,
By her children's valor won.
God shield you, champions of the Gael,
Never may your foes prevail,
Never were ye known to yield
Basely in the embattled field.
Here's the shamrock, the thistle, the
leek, and the rose,
And the four saints, for emblems,
which each of them chose,
Flourish long and live happy, like
sister and brother,
Since now all the four have married
each other.

Here is to old Ireland, her sons and
her daughters;
Here is to her emblem, the Shamrock,
I mean.
May the sun always shine on the
round towers of Erin.
That's a toast from the heart of an
Irish colleen.
Here's to the land of the shamrock
so green,
Here's to each lad and his darling
Here's to the ones we love dearest
and most —
And may God save old Ireland ! That's
an Irishman's toast.
Hibernia — Steeped in her own tears
she never can get up ; — soaking

in whiskey, she must go down; —
but bathing in " coult wather " she
will get on " swimmingly."
Horticultural Experiments — May
the tree of freedom soon be planted
in Ireland, and may John Bull find
it as difficult to uproot as he found it
I'm weary for old Ireland — once
To see her fields before me,
In sunshine or in rain!
And the longing in my heart when
it comes o'er me
Stings like pain.
In her cause I am willin' my veins
should run dhry,
And for Ireland's sweet sake I am
ready to die. S
Ireland ! Ancient Ireland !
Ancient! yet for ever young!
Thou one mother, home and sireland,
Thou at length hast found a tongue,
Proudly thou at length
Resistest in triumphant strength.
Ireland and America — May the
former soon be as free as the latter,
and may the latter never forget that
Irishmen were instrumental in securing
the liberty they now enjoy.
Ireland — St. Patrick destroyed its
creeping things of other days — may

his disciples speedily exterminate the
political reptiles of the present age.
Ireland: sympathy to her wrongs,
and a determination to redress them.
Ireland: the sister of proud England,
may she never be her bonded slave.
Ireland's harp all over the world.
Ireland's harp: may its chords
never be broken.
Ireland's immortal Shamrock : may
it be green for ever.

Irish heroes: and the apprentices
f Londonderry.
Irish Shillelaghs: may they never
break the head of a friend. *
Irishmen — The love of liberty will
burn in their bosoms as long as their
bright isle is washed by the ocean.
Justice to Ireland — A domestic
legislature alone can confer it; to
expect it from a London Parliament
is an idle dream, and we Irishmen, on
this side of the water, hope that full
restitution will be made for past injustices.

Land of my forefathers, Erin-go-
Bragh !
Buried and cold when my heart stills
its motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of
the ocean,
And thy harp-striking bards sing
aloud with devotion,
Erin Mavoureen! Sweet Erin-go-
Bragh !
Let all atone
For blood and groan,
For dark revenge and open wrong;
Let all unite
For Ireland's right
And drown our griefs in Freedom's
May the Cork of Irish freedom
float proudly on the waves of Irish

May the day come quickly when
Great Britain will discover that Irishmen
are her stanchest friends, and
when Irishmen will learn that Englishmen
are their brothers.
May the Emerald Isle ever bloom
in the main, and only be trodden by
the foot of friendship.
May the Emerald Isle that grows
out of the sea
Flourish long in Prosperity, happy
and free.
May the Irishmen wear their grievances
till they are all re-dressed.

May the shamrock continue to
flourish, and ever be an emblem of
unity, charity, friendship, and love.
My blessing be on you, old Erin,
My own land of frolic and fun,
For all sorts of mirth and diversion
Your like is not under the sun.
0 Ireland, isn't it grand you look -
Like a bride in her rich adornin'?
And with all the pent-up love of my
I bid you the top o' the morninM
Oh! the green land, the old land,
Far dearer than the gold land,
With all its landscape glory and
unchanging summer skies ;

Let others seek their pleasures
In the chase of golden treasures,
Be mine a dream of Erin, and the
light of Kathleen's eyes.
On one side is Virtue and Erin
On theirs is the Saxon and Guilt !
Peace and Prosperity to Ireland
Pearly are the skies in the country
of my fathers,
Purple are thy mountains, home
of my heart.
Mother of my yearning, love of all
my longings,
Keep me in remembrance, long
leagues apart.

Quick, quick, now, I'll give you, since
Time's glass will run
Even faster than ours doth, three
bumpers in one;
Here's to the poet who sings — here's
to the warrior who fights —
Here's to the statesman who speaks,
in the cause of men's rights.
Shannon's flowery
they bloom for ever. banks: may
She is a rich and a rare land,
Oh! she's a fresh and a fair land,
She is a dear and rare land -
This native land of mine. , -
Slante gael go bragh!

Success to the Emerald Isle
Where Shillelagh and Shamrocks
May peace and prosperity smile
O'er the land and its natives around.
The anniversary of St. Patrick's
day: and may the Shamrock be
green for ever.
The birthplace of wit, and the home
of hospitality — Ireland.
The Descendants of Irishmen —
May they never forget the respect
which they owe to the land which
contains the ashes of their fathers.

The Emerald Isle — May her sons
and daughters resemble a field of
potatoes in full bloom, beautiful to
look upon; and when called on to
assist the distressed, may they, like
the roots, prove a real blessing to the
The everlasting Green for me;
And we for one another.
The green, oh the green, it's the
color of the true
To wear it far transcends in worth,
the orange or the blue,
Arrayed in brilliant blue above the
spreading sky is seen,
But the mantle of our mother earth
is still the glorious green.

The Heart of an Irishman — A
living monument of the kind and
generous feelings — while the hand
of Charity guides the stream, may
the hand of Wealth yield a perpetual
The homes that our fathers — our
childhood endeared —
That our memories cling to with
puling desire,
Shall be Ours — Ours again — and
the brave will be heard,
The long exiled brave — cheering
Sheela na guire.
The Irish - American — may his tribe
increase !
The Lads of the land of Shillelagh.

The queen of all islands is Erin,
the blest.
The savage loves his native shore,
Though rude the soil and chill the
Then well may Erin's sons adore
Their isle, which nature formed so
What flood reflects a shore so sweet
As Shannon great, or pastoral Bann?
Or who a friend or foe can meet
So generous as an Irishman?
His hand is rash, his heart is warm,
But honesty is still his guide;
No more repent a deed of harm,
And none forgives with nobler
pride ;
He may be duped, but won't be dared—
More fit to practise than to plan;

He dearly earns his poor reward,
And spends it like an Irishman.
If strange or poor, for you he'll pay,
And guide to where you safe may
If you're his guest, while e'er you
His cottage holds a jubilee.
His inmost soul he will unlock,
And if he may your secrets scan,
Your confidence he scorns to mock,
For faithful is an Irishman.
By honor bound in woe or weal
Whate'er she bids he dares to do;
Try him with bribes — they won't
Prove him in fire — you'll find
him true.
He seeks not safety, let his post
Be where it ought, in danger's van;

And if the field of fame be lost,
It won't be by an Irishman.
Erin! loved land! from age to age
Be thou more great, more famed,
and free;
May peace be thine, or, should'st
thou wage
Defensive war, cheap victory.
May plenty bloom in every field
Which gentle breezes softly fan,
And cheerful smiles . serenely gild
The home of every Irishman!
The Shamrock, the green immortal
Chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock.

Then let us be frisky> and tipple the
No country whatever has power to Long life to the land of dear liberty's
The Shamrock, the Rose and the
Thistle, my boys.
Then here's their memory — may
it be
For us a guiding light,
To cheer our strife for liberty,
And teach us to unite!
Through good and ill, be Ireland's
Though sad as theirs, your fate;
And true men, be you, men,
Like those of Ninety-Eight.

There's a dear little plant that grows
in our isle, '
Twas Saint Patrick himself, sure,
that set it;
And the sun on his labor
pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye
wet it.
It thrives through the bog, through
the brake, through the mireland;
And he called it the dear little shamrock
of Ireland,
The sweet little shamrock, the
dear little shamrock,
The sweet little, green little, shamrock
of Ireland.
This dear little plant still grows in
our land,
Fresh and fair as the daughters
of Erin,
Whose smiles can bewitch, whose
eyes can command,

n each climate that they may
appear in;
And shine through the bog, through
the brake, through the mireland:
The sweet little shamrock, the dear
little shamrock,
The sweet little, green little, shamrock
of Ireland.
This dear little plant that
from our soil,
When its three little leaves
Denotes from one stock we together
should toil,
And ourselves by ourselves be
And still through the bog, through the
brake, through the mireland,
From one root should branch, like
the shamrock of Ireland,
The sweet little shamrock, the dear
little shamrock,

To the Country that gave St. Patrick
To the Irishmen in America! —
They have built our great public
works; they have constructed our
vast system of railways; they have
risen to place of power and eminence
in every walk of industry and in every
avenue which is open to brains and
To the Shamrock, that never will
lose its emerald hue.
To our native land. Every one
loves it whether he was born there
or not.

True to his name, his country, and
his God,
Faithful at home, and steadfast still
abroad.' '
Truth for England and Justice for
Ireland. "
Well, here's thank God for the race
and the sod ! "
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
Wert thou all that I wish thee,
Great, glorious and free,
First flower of the earth,
And first gem of the sea.
We've heard her faults a hundred

The new ones and the old,
In songs and sermons, ranns and
Enlarged some fifty fold,
But take them all, the great and small,
And this we've got to say :
Here's dear Old Ireland,
Good Old Ireland,
Ireland, boys, hurrah!
What flood reflects a shore so sweet
As Shannon's sweet or pastoral
Or who a friend or foe can meet
So generous as an Irishman?
When Erin first rose from the dark
swelling flood,
God blessed the green Island, and saw
it was good;

The em'rald of Europe, it sparkled
and shone -
In the ring of the world the most
precious stone.
In her sun, in her soil, in her station
thrice blest,
With her back towards Britain, her
face to the West,
Erin stands proudly insular on her
steep shore,
And strikes her high harp 'mid the
ocean's deep roar.
Yes! Ireland shall be free,
From the centre to the sea;
Then hurrah for Liberty!
Says the Shan Van Vocht.

Beimedh a gole ! (
Let us be drinking.)
A glass is good, a lass is good,
And a pipe to smoke in cold weather.
The world is good and the people are
And we're all good fellows together.
Be the whiskey ever near thee, thro'
the day and night, '
Tis the cordial for all ages,
Every evil it assuages
And to bards and saints and sages
Gives joy and life and light.
Bird of the North! By instinct fine
You sought a perfect sea.
And we to-night from sparkling wine
Will make that place for thee!

No longer seek the rippling brine,
Or haunt the marshy waste,
But dip your wing in drink divine,
With celery to your taste.
Bird of the blest, a choicer wave
Flows o'er our goblet's brim,
And in it you shall sweetly lave,
And in it you shall swim!
No more the waters beat your breast,
Your tired wings brave the sky,
But you shall have eternal rest,
And float hi " Extra Dry."
But send round the bowl, and be
happy awhile —
May we never meet worse in our
pilgrimage here
Than the tear that enjoyment may
gild with a smile —
And the smile that compassion
can turn to a tear.



Come in the evening, or come in the morning —
Come when you're looked for, come without warning;
A thousand welcomes you'll find here before you !
And the oftener you come the more I'll adore you t

— Old Irish Toast

Irish Toast.

" Here is that ye may never die nor be kilt till ye break your bones over a bushel o' glory."



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