The Cruiskeen Lawn by George Sigerson

 
O sons of noble Erinn,
I've tidings of high daring
To brighten now your faces pale and wan:
Then hearken, gather nearer,
In Gaelic ringing clearer,
We'll pledge them in a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán,
We'll pledge them in a cruiskeen lán!
Olfameed an cruiskeen,
Sláinte gal mo vuirneen![1]
In motion, over ocean, slán, slán, slán!
In exile dark and dreary,
Wandering far and weary,
With friends that never failed, I have gone,
 The trusted and true-hearted,
Would God we'd never parted,
Our brothers, boys, a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán!
Our heroes in a cruiskeen lán.
Heav'n speed them over ocean,
With breeze of rapid motion,
The ships that King Charles sails upon;
With troops the frank and fearless,
To win our Freedom peerless,
Our Freedom, boys, a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán!
Our Freedom, in a cruiskeen lán!
Young men who now are sharing
The toast we raise to Erinn,
With hope that the King is coming on,
Grasp your guns and lances
For swift his host advances,
We'll toast them in a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán!
We'll toast them in a cruiskeen lán!
The tribe who would destroy all
Our rightful princes royal
Shall hence end their rule and begone;
The Gael shall live in gladness,
And banished be all sadness.
To that time, then, a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán!
That time, boys, a cruiskeen lán!
Olfameed an cruiskeen,
Sláinte gal mo vuirneen,
In motion, over ocean, slán, slán, slán!
FOOTNOTES:
 i.e. "Let us drink the cruiskeen ('little jug'); fair health to my darling!"