The star may dissolve, and the fountain of light
May sink intoe'er ending chao's and night,
Our mansions must fall and earth vanish away;
But thy courage, O Erin! may never decay.
See! the wide wasting ruin extends all around,
Our ancestors' dwellings lie sunk on the ground,
Our foes ride in triumph throughout our domains,
And our mightiest horoes streched on the plains.
Ah! dead is the harp which was wont to give pleasure,
Ah! sunk in our sweet country's rapturous measure,
But the war note is weakened, and the clangour of spears,
The dread yell of Slogan yet sounds in our ears.
Ah! where are the heroes! triumphant in death,
Convulsed they recline on the blood-sprinkled heath,
Or the yelling ghosts ride on the blast that sweeps by,
And my countrymen! vengeance! incessantly cry. Abyss,
The houses collapsed, the soil turned into smoke,
But Ireland - your heroism remains undiminished!
Look! Endless ruins are spreading in all directions,
The foundation of our ancestors - broken walls and ruins;
The enemy's iron hoofs have trampled all over our territory,
The most powerful The warrior - sleeps in the wilderness.
The harp that always gives joy - mute and broken strings!
The joy of cute country-the charm is decadent!
Although the war drums are gradually dying down, the clanging swords
The roar of the clan war is still like thunder.
Where is the hero! Success and disaster
Struggling in a pool of blood, stained with blood on the heather;
Howling heroic spirits swept by the strong wind
Revenge, my compatriots! - Keep shouting!