It has banks of pale primroses that like bits of moonlight glow;
There are hawthorn hedges blossomed out like drifts of perfumed snow,
Bluebells swinging on their slender stems and cowslips on the lea.
I was better for the lessons they in childhood taught to me;
And still sweet is every memory, and blessed each regret
That twines round that dear island home, which our hearts cannot
forget.

From where Antrim's giant columns at the north are piled on high,
The sentinels of centuries tow'ring up against the sky,
From mountain top and purple heath, from valleys fair to see,
Where streams of flashing crystal bright are flowing merrily,
To Kerry's lakes of loveliness that dimple in the sun.
'Tis fair as any spot of earth that heaven's light shines upon.
O Erin, my mother Erin, dear land more kind than wise,
I think of thee till loving tears come thronging to my eyes.

Thou hast nourished on thy bosom many sons of deathless fame;
Who, while the world will last, shall shed a lustre on thy name.
While Foyle's proud swelling waters roll past Derry to the sea;
While yet a single vestige of old Limerick's walls there be;
Shall those who love thee well, fair land, lament that feuds divide
The sons of those who for each cause stood fast on either side.
From every ruined castle grey, well may the banshee cry
O'er bitter waters once let loose that have not yet run dry

O would the blessed time might come when, party feeling done,
The noble deeds of both sides will be gathered into one!
On the battle-fields of Europe thy sons quit themselves like men,
Till those who made them exiles longed for their good swords again,