Blake, Burke, and O’Malley, Lynch, Kirwan, and Browne,
By forest, lake, mountain, through village and town.
Then kind were the voices that greeted my way,
’Twas Cead mille failte at closing of day,
When young hearts beat lightly, and labour was done,
For joy tracked my steps, as light follows the sun;
I had tales for the hamlet, and news for the hall,
And the tune of old times, ever welcome to all,
The praise of thy glory, dear land of the west;
But thy praises are still, and thy kind bosoms rest!