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,

so young and fresh

but with a wisdom

ancient and old;

O Eire,

even the strongest invader

is overwhelmed by your

mighty power,

succumbing not to your sword

but rather your spirit,

taking not their lives but

capturing their souls instead,

making them prisoners to that

which they had come to imprison;

O Eire.

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