O Eire

O Eire,

who could taste your sweetness

and not cry out for more,

who could stand upon your

mighty cliffs,

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 charm,

succumbing 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.

.

.