Erin, I'd blush to be born of Thee.

Mary Jane O'Donovan Rossa

Fairest thou art, O dear land by the wave,
Fairest and fruitful, but still, still a slave;
Outcasts thy children, a by-word thy name,
The manhood of nations may laugh at thy shame.

Only I know in thy soul burns strong

The will and the hope for the downfall of wrong;

Only I know thou hast vowed to be free,

Erin, I'd blush to be born of thee !

Thy meed is contempt from the peoples free-born,

Thy meed from thy mistress is insult and scorn,

The fate of the slave and the exile to share,

And thy meed from the Heavens is chains while thou'lt bear.

Only I know in thy soul burns strong

The will and the hope to avenge this great wrong;

Only I know thou hast vowed to be free,

Erin, I'd blush to be born of thee !

Fruitful thou art, but for strangers the store
That goldens thy bosom and silvers thy shore;
Fair — would thy fairness, round which Ocean raves,
E'en make me content to be herded with slaves?

No, I would fly thee and make me a home

In a country less loved but more free o'er the foam;

Only I know thou hast vowed to be free,

Erin, I'd blush to be born of thee !

Fairest, my land I has thine olden pride waned?

With the ebb of thy race is thy glory fount drained?

No, thou wilt wake, gather in all thy breath

From the winds, for a struggle for triumph or death.
In thy soul now burns deeply and strong,
The power, the will, for the downfall of wrong;
Erin, my land, thou hast vowed to be free,
With pride still thy children claim birth-place in thee!