A PLENTEOUS place is Ireland
for hospitable cheer,
Uileacán dubh
O!
Where the wholesome fruit is
bursting from the yellow barley ear;
Uileacán dubh
O!
There is honey in the trees
where her misty vales expand,
And her forest paths in summer
are by falling waters fanned;
There is dew at high noontide
there, and springs i’ the yellow sand,
On the fair hills of holy Ireland.
Curled he is and ringleted, and
plaited to the knee,
Uileacán dubh
O!
Each captain who comes sailing
across the Irish sea;
Uileacán dubh
O!
And I will make my journey, if life
and health but stand
Unto that pleasant country,
that fresh and fragrant strand,
And leave your boasted braveries,
your wealth and high command,
For the fair hills of holy Ireland.
Large and profitable are the
stacks upon the ground,
Uileacán dubh
O!
The butter and the cream do
wonderously abound,
Uileacán dubh
O!
The cresses on the water and
the sorrels are at hand,
And the cuckoo’s calling daily
his note of music bland
And the bold thrush sings so
bravely his song i’ the forests grand,
On the fair hills of holy Ireland.
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