Cuisle mo Chroidhe

Dear Erin, how sweetly thy green bosom rises !
. An emerald set in the ring of the sea !
Each blade of thy meadows my faithful heart prizes,
Thou queen of the west ! the world's Cuisle mo chroidhe.

Thy gates open wide to the poor and the stranger —
There smiles hospitality, hearty and free ;
Thy friendship is seen in the moment of danger,
And the wanderer is welcomed with Cuisle mo chroidhe.

Thy sons they are brave ; but the battle once over,
In brotherly peace with their foes they agree ;
And the roseate cheeks of thy daughters discover
The soul-speaking blush that says Cuisle mo chroidhe.

Then flourish for ever, my dear native Erin !
While sadly I wander, an exile from thee,
And, firm as thy mountains, no injury fearing,
May Heaven defend its own Cuisle mo chroidhe.