When boyhood's fire was in my blood,
I read of ancient freemen,
Of Greece, of Rome who bravely stood,
Three hundred men and three men.
Then I prayed I yet might see,
Our fetters rent in twain,
And Ireland, long a province, be
A nation once again.
A nation once again,
A nation once again,
And Ireland, long a province, be
A nation once again.
From that time, through wildest woe,
That hope had shone, a far light;
Nor could love's brightest summer glow
Outshine that solemn starlight:
It seemed to watch above my head
To forum, field and fane;
An angel's voice rang round my bed,
A nation once again.
So, as I grew from boy to man,
I will to me that bidding —
The spirit of each selfish plan
And cruel passion ridding;
For, thus I hoped some day to aid —
Oh! can such hope be in vain?
When dear old Ireland shall be made
A nation once again?