Song To Erin Poem by Mary Weston Fordham

Oh! Erin my country, my ancestor's home!
Impelled by my wants, I, from thee, had to roam;
And now my heart yearneth, sore longeth for thee
My dear native Ireland, my 'gem of the sea.'

Oh! Erin my country, thou land of the brave!
Who'll rescue from tyr'ny, who'll ransom and save?
Thy despots so strong, are still wielding their power,
To bind thee in slavery both now and forever.

Speak! speak! who will rescue our Emerald Isle?
Now bowed by the oppressor in servitude vile!
Her sons are all scattered, her daughters are gone,
And she is left desolate, forlorn and alone.

I'll sigh for thee Erin, when spring winds doth fan,
With musical breathings, this far distant land;
'Twill remind me of youth's happy days on thy shore-
Of days, mournful thought, I shall never see more.

I'll weep for thee Erin, as the blue waters surge,
Shall re-echo my wailing, shall chant the sad dirge;
Of Ireland in slavery, once land of the free;
Of Ireland, my country, my 'gem of the sea.'