Ireland, brutal land, savage land, subtle region, your sweet music, coming unto me, seemingly pulled from the winds and flowing
from the rivers. Burst of purity, fruit of the days, amongst the pearls of brown, she represents prize-winners. Your marine air, tender and rough, shaping hand to hand, carress the red-haired heads and invite the humble humility to contemplate her
strength. By
forcing them into submission, these ardent elements, concordance of Gods, you have known to reconcile them. Enchantment of senses, at the bottom of my bog, of calm legendary tone, I dream, green providence. The darkened wins, in her languorous ire, unleash the seas and the most reckless of men, lead them to the broad to the test of strength by forcing them to return to the port. In my soul, you have liberated, o green prairie, a mustiness of liberty, you who for your liberty, have combated those who have humiliated you.