O Eire

O Eire,

who could taste your sweetness,

and not cry out for more?

who could stand upon your cliff tops,

or walk the banks of the river Shannon,

and not feel your mystical magic?

your hills

breathe with life,

so young and fresh,

yet with a wisdom,

so ancient and old;

O Eire,

even the mightiest invader

is overwhelmed

by the power of your Irishness,

as they succumb

not to your sword,

but to your spirit,

you take not their lives,

rather, you take their souls,

making them prisoners

to that which they had come to imprison;

O Eire.

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