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But yet all its fond recollection surpassing,
One dying wish my fond bosom shall draw;
Erin an exile bequeaths thee his blessing,
Land of my forefathers, Erin Go Bragh.
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, sweet isle of the Ocean!
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion
Erin ma Vourneen Erin Go Bragh.
Green be thy fields, sweet isle of the Ocean!
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion
Erin ma Vourneen Erin Go Bragh.
Gude Forgi'e me for Liein'.
Ae day a braw wooer came down the lang glen,
and fast wi' his love he did deave me:
But I said there was naething I hated like men:
The duce tak' the lad to believe me.
and fast wi' his love he did deave me:
But I said there was naething I hated like men:
The duce tak' the lad to believe me.
A weel-stocked mailen, himsel' o't the laird,
An bridal aff han', was the offer;
I never look on that I kend or car'd.
But I thought I might waur offer.
An bridal aff han', was the offer;
I never look on that I kend or car'd.
But I thought I might waur offer.
He spoke o' the darts o' my bonny black een;
An' O! for my love he was diein;
I said he might drew an liket for Jean:
The gude forgi'e me for liein'.
An' O! for my love he was diein;
I said he might drew an liket for Jean:
The gude forgi'e me for liein'.
