While some are kind to friends alone, thy sons whate'er befal
More like the blessed sun and rain have kindliness for all.
O Erin, my mother Erin! much my love would say of thee,
Were my lips but half so eloquent as my heart would have them be.
As Moses longed for Lebanon, so I long that once again
My feet might press the shamrocks in the meadows by the Maine.
Oh to see the wee brown larks again, once more to hear them sing,
As up to heaven's blessed gates they soar on tireless wing!
I'd watch them till I'd half forget the burden of my years,
And tender thoughts of childhood would well up in happy tears.
I may never see thee more, _mo run_, but with each breath I draw
Thou art still to me _mavourneen_, so _an slainte leat gu bragh._
WRITTEN FOR THE O'CONNEL CENTENARY.
Sons of the bright, green island,
Gathered by the pine-fringed lake,
In honour of his memory,
Who battled for your sake,
Listen, we too pay our tribute
To a fame that well endures;
He, who ventured much for liberty,
Is ours as well as yours.
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