Ye sons of Hibernia, howe'er low in station, Or where'er you be, come attend to my call. Resist all attempts, and unshackle your nation, Old Ireland, I mean, or, alas! she must fall. With burdens so great, and her liberty sinking, Its beauty nigh gone—on destruction it s brinking. Then on, my brave boys; don't let's stand idly thinking, While Ireland's our country, dear Erin-go-bragh.
Oh! Erin, my country, once happy and free, With pleasure I stood on thy once native shore, But, alas! cruel fortune has turned foe to thee, Oh! Erin Mavourneen, thy case I deplore. Bound down by a shackle that's linked to a snare, By foes base and keen, who have filled thee with care; Then on, my brave boys; we'll show we play fair, For Ireland's our country, dear Erin-go-bragh.
Oh! England, your taunts and your censures give o'er, And spite not that country that's equal to you; But join hand in hand, each day and each hour, With Scotland, our friends—all to each other true. United by friendship, we'll join in a band, Determined to fight for our kings, laws and land; Then on, my brave boys; don't let us here stand, While Ireland's our country, dear Erin-go-bragh.