Kathaleen Ny-Houlahan

Long they pine in weary woe, the nobles of our land,
Long they wander to and fro, proscribed, alas ! and banned ;
Feastless, houseless, altarless, they bear the exile's brand ;
But their hope is in the coming-to of Kathaleen Ny-Houlahan !

Think her not a ghastly hag, too hideous to be seen,
Call her not unseemly names, our matchless Kathaleen ;
Young she is, and fair she is, and would be crowned queen,
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 —
Him who formed the mighty globe, with all its thousand lands ;
Girdling them with seas and mountains, rivers deep, and strands,
To cast a look of pity upon Kathaleen Ny-Houlahan !

He who over sands and waves led Israel along —
He who fed, with heavenly bread, that chosen tribe and throng —
He who stood by Moses, when his foes were fierce and strong —
May He show forth His might in saving Kathaleen Ny-Houlahan !