Blessed be the green recess by the sweet Maine water where
I a little child with my child friend sweet and fair
Built with golden fancies this castle in the air!
My child friend is at rest,
Erin's shamrock's on her breast,
I her little minstrel am all unknown to fame,
For the songs are all unsung,
And not a northern tongue
Has spoken once in praise my very unknown name
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.
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