From the green glens that he beside the sea
From cloud capt Sleive mis of the shamrock vest?
From near old castles, where the dread banshee
Waits for the native lords when laid to rest?

Or did the tartaned stranger call thee where
Mount Cashel's Lord rules o'er a fair domain?
Or grass grown ruin all that's left to bear
Of a lost race the all but fading name?

The lovely Maine lingers in flowing through
The peaceful place that was my childhood's home,
Myriads of shamrocks on its margin grew,
Was it from these thy sisters thou hast come?

Such fair broad meadows by Maine water lay,
Erin her mantle green for carpet spread,
In merry childhood there we met to play,
Dashing the dew from many a shamrock's head.

Where sleep the village dead there is a spot
That's dearer far than all the rest to me;
It's interwoven with full many a thought,
And with my young heart's childish history.

She was most fair that sleeps that sod beneath;
The fair form shrined a soul akin to mine,
And the sharp pain of heart ties cut by death,
Has softened been but left unhealed by time