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 Shannon,

and not feel your mystical magic;

your hills

breathe with life,

young and fresh,

yet with a wisdom,

ancient and old;

O Eire;

even the mightiest invader,

is overwhelmed by the power

of your charm,

succumbing not to your sword,

but rather to your spirit,

as you take not their lives,

but steal their souls,

making them prisoners to that

which they had come to imprison;

O Eire.

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