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| THE SAVAGE loves his native shore, | |
| Though rude the soil and chill the air; | |
| Then well may Erin’s sons adore | |
| Their isle which nature formed so fair, | |
| What flood reflects a shore so sweet | 5 |
| As Shannon great or pastoral Bann? | |
| Or who a friend or foe can meet | |
| So generous as an Irishman? | |
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| His hand is rash, his heart is warm, | |
| But honesty is still his guide; | 10 |
| None more repents a deed of harm, | |
| And none forgives with nobler pride; | |
| He may be duped, but won’t be dared— | |
| More fit to practise than to plan; | |
| He dearly earns his poor reward, | 15 |
| And spends it like an Irishman. | |
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| If strange or poor, for you he ’ll pay, | |
| And guide to where you safe may be; | |
| If you ’re his guest, while e’er you stay, | |
| His cottage holds a jubilee. | 20 |
| His inmost soul he will unlock, | |
| And if he may your secrets scan, | |
| Your confidence he scorns to mock, | |
| For faithful is an Irishman. | |
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| By honor bound in woe or weal, | 25 |
| Whate’er she bids he dares to do; | |
| Try him with bribes—they won’t prevail; | |
| Prove him in fire—you ’ll find him true. | |
| He seeks not safety, let his post | |
| Be where it ought in danger’s van; | 30 |
| And if the field of fame be lost, | |
| It won’t be by an Irishman. | |
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| Erin! loved land! from age to age, | |
| Be thou more great, more famed, and free, | |
| May peace be thine, or shouldst thou wage | 35 |
| Defensive war, cheap victory. | |
| May plenty bloom in every field | |
| Which gentle breezes softly fan, | |
| And cheerful smiles serenely gild | |
| The home of every Irishman. | 40 |
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