Could whisper the anthem of Erin-go-bragh.
‘Sad is my fate!’ said the heart-broken stranger;
‘The wild deer and fox shall be monarchs alone;
For, racked by the tortures of famine and danger,
To new homes and new countries my children have flown,
Never again, when the hill-tops are hoary
And the winter winds wail, shall they list to the story,
Which their forefathers loved, of their countrymen’s glory,
Nor join in the chorus of Erin-go-bragh.
Britannia, my sister, though sad and forsaken,