In the emerald fields where legends sleep,
Beneath the skies where echoes weep,
Lies a tale of silent grace,
A somber dance, an ancient pace.

With every whisper of the breeze,
The spirits rise among the trees,
To tell of lives both bold and bright,
Now shadows in the soft moonlight.

The rivers sing their mournful song,
Of heroes’ hearts that beat so strong,
And in the stillness of the night,
Their memories cast a gentle light.

Though death has claimed its silent prize,
The Irish soul forever flies,
Through tales and songs that never die,
In hearts, in dreams, in every sigh.