Along the sides of old Slieve Dhu again my footstep falls,
Again the turf smoke rises blue, again the cuckoo calls,
Once more adown the mountain brown the brown bog-waters leap—
Oh how the croon of "Shule aroon" goes sounding through my sleep!
Shule, shule, shule, aroon,
Shule go soccair, agus shule go cuain,
Shule, shule, shule, aroon,
Sgo Dhae tu, mavourneen, slan.
Oh 'tis I am here in Canada, far, far across the foam,
And many years and many tears divide me from my home;
But still above the Irish hills the stars their watches keep,
And—it's not the songs of Canada go sounding through my sleep.
Shule, shule, shule, aroon,
Shule go soccair, agus shule go cuain,
Shule, shule, shule, aroon,
Sgo Dhae tu, mavourneen, slan.
A SONG OF ERIN
Far to westward in the sunset tall and bare her cliffs arise,
Mother Erin, with the tender love and laughter in her eyes,
Looking out across the waters, dreaming of her argosies.
Argosies that sail forever, laden down with hopes and fears,
Ships of dream, returning never, though she waits throughout the years,
Waits, with eyes wherein the laughter grows more sorrowful than tears.
One by one her children leave her—stalwart sons and daughters fair,
Straining eyes grown dim with anguish as her hilltops melt in air;
Bending from her cliffs she watches, drinking deep of their despair.
Yet she showers her gifts upon them—gifts of laughter and of tears;
Gives their eyes the Vision Splendid, fairy music to their ears,
Weaves around their feet her magic—spells that strengthen through
the years,