One night as oppressed with soft slumbers I lay
And dreamed of old Erin oft thought of by day
With the long, wasting wars between Saxon and Gael
Up rose the bright vision of Graínne Mhaol

Old Erin's green mantle around her was flung
And down her fair shoulders the rich tresses hung
Her eyes like the Sun of the young morning shone
Whilst her harp sent forth strains of the days now gone

Of Erin's fair daughters a circle was seen
Each one with her distaff surrounding the queen
Whose sweet vocal chorus was heard to prolong
The soul-stirring anthems of harp and song

To Erin, what shame and what lasting disgrace
That her sons should be crushed by a vile foreign race
Who have banished her priests and polluted her thanes
And turned to a desert her fertile plains

To Erin, what shame and what lasting disgrace
That her sons should be crushed by a vile foreign race
Who have banished her priests and polluted her thanes
And turned to a desert her fertile plains