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In a mansion of peace, where no sorrow can chace me.
Ah, never again shall my brothers embrace me:
They died to defend me, or live to deplore.

Where now is my cabin door so fast by the wild wood,
Sisters and sire, how ye weep for its fall,
Where is the mother that look'd on my childhood,
And where is my bosom friend, dearer than all?
Ah, my sad soul, long abandon'd by pleasure,
Why did it doat on a fast fading treasure?
Tears like the rain, may fall without measure,
But rapture and beauty they cannot recal.

But yet all its fond recollections suppressing,
One dying wish my fond bosom shall draw,
Erin, an exile bequeaths thee his blessing,
Land of my forefathers—Erin go Bragh;
Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle in the ocean,
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,
Erin ma vourneen, sweet Erin go Bragh.

 

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Blithe was she.

BLITHE blithe and merry was she,
 Blithe was she butt and ben,
Blithe by the banks of Ern.
 And blithe in Glenturet Glen.