There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill For his country he sighed, when at twilight repining To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion He sang the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh.
Erin, my country, though sad and forsaken In dreams I revisit your sea-beaten shore But, alas, in a far foreign land I awaken And sigh for the friends who cane meet me no more. Oh, cruel fate will you never replace me In a mansion of peace where no perils can chase me Never again shall my brothers embrace me The died to defend me, or live to deplore.
But all of its sad recollection suppressing One dying wish my lone bosom can draw Erin, an exile bequeaths you his blessing Land of my forefather, Erin-go-Bragh. Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion Green be your fields, sweetest isle of the ocean And your harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion Erin, mavourneen, Erin-go-bragh.