The lilies and roses abandon the plains,
Though the summer’s gone by, still the shamrock remains,
Like a friend in misfortune it blossoms o’er the snow,
For my heart’s in old Ireland wherever I go,
Oh, my heart’s, &c.
I sigh and I vow, if e’er I get home,
No more from my dear native cottage I’ll roam;
The harp shall resound, and the goblet shall flow,
For my heart’s in old Ireland wherever I go,
Oh, my heart’s, &c.