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.

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