But I know heroic souls beyond my feeble praise,
I know of calm endurance like the great of other days,
High deeds for battle song, worth a poet's noblest lays,
Of the pathos of the strife
In the lowly walks of life,
Of many an unknown hero that has won the victor's crown
And the lovely, lovely land,
Landscape fair, and castle grand,
Worthy the coming bard who will sing of their renown.

I love thee well, sweet Erin, though fate led another way;
I'll call thee still, _mavourneen_, when head and heart are grey;
Another one will say and sing what I have failed to say;
But this very day to me,
There has come across the sea
Some pleasant verses bearing a well remembered name;
That has done for Erin's land
What I only thought and planned,
And won a place in Erin's heart that I can never claim.

So unknown beside a pine-fringed lake away beyond the sea,
Half in gladness of remembrance, half in wakened childish glee
I stretch my hand in homage and kindredship to thee,
I greet thee this bright day
From three thousand miles away,
And to thy well earned laurels I'd add a sprig of bay
Glad to know thou'rt rhyming yet,
For thy readers can't forget
Erin's genial loving son,