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 mystic magic;

your hills breathe with life,

so young and fresh,

but with a wisdom

so ancient and old;

O Eire,

even the mightiest invader

is overwhelmed,

by the power of your land,

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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