Were the king’s son at home here with Kathaleen Ny-Houlahan!
Sweet and mild would look her face, O none so sweet and mild,
Could she crush the foes by whom her beauty is reviled;
Woollen plaids would grace herself and robes of silk her child,
If the king’s son were living here with Kathaleen Ny-Houlahan!
Sore disgrace it is to see the Arbitress of thrones,
Vassal to a Saxoneen of cold and sapless bones!
Bitter anguish wrings our souls—with heavy sighs and groans
We wait the Young Deliverer of Kathaleen Ny-Houlahan!
Let us pray to Him who holds Life’s issues in His hands—