Once the harp thro' the vallies of Erin resounded, Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh; The shamrock and laurel luxuriantly crown'd it, Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh; Sweet was its tone when pensively mourning; As bold and as warm when with gratitude burning, It thrill'd for the heroes from battle returning, Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh;
But the dark and the dampness of night slowly creeping, Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh; O'erwhelm'd its lov'd strains, as Erin sat weeping, Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh; Long was that night, the harp, no more sounded, By silence and gathering horrors surrounded, Lay prostrate, nor told how deeply 'twas wounded, Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh;
Dark was that cloud the harp's ruin concealing, Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh; Strong was that spell its soft music congealing, Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh; Till a ray sent from heaven which cheer'd and delighted, Purely and bright the fallen relic re-lighted, And burst the cold bonds, of the harp long benighted, Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh.