There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin; 
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; 
For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing,
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. 
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion; 
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, 
Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion, 
He sung the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh.

"Sad is my fate!" said the heart-broken stranger, 
"The wild deer and wolf to a cover can flee;
"But I have no refuge from famine and danger, 
"A home and a country remain not to me.
"Never again in the green sunny bowers, 
"Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours; 
"Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, 
"And strike to the numbers of Erin-go-bragh.