Will you come to the bower o’er the free, boundless ocean
Where stupendous waves roll in thundering motion
Where the mermaids are seen and the fierce tempest gathers
To loved Erin the green, the dear land of our fathers

Will you come, will ya, will ya
Will you come to the bower

Will you come to the land of O’Neill and O’Donnell
Of Lord Lucan of old and the immortal O’Connell
Where Brian chased the Dane and St. Patrick the vermin
And whose valleys remain still most beautiful and charming

You can visit Benburb and the storied Blackwater
Where Owen Roe met Munro and his chieftans did slaughter
Where the lamb sport and play on the mossy all over
From those bright golden views to enchanting Rosstrevor

You can see Dublin city and the fine groves of Blarney
The Bann,  Boyne, the Liffey, and the lakes of Killarney
You can ride on the tide o’er the broad, majestic Shannon
You can sail ’round Lough Neagh and see storied Dungannon

You can visit New Ross, gallant Wexford and Gorey
Where the green was last seen by proud Saxon and Tory
Where the soil is sanctified by the blood of each true man
Where they died satisfied, their enemies they would not run from

Will you come and awake our dear land from its slumber
And her fetters we will break, links that long have encumbered
And the air will resound with hosannas to greet you
On the shore will be found gallant Irishmen to meet you

Notes

1. The Shannon, Ireland’s longest river, is often referred to as “the broad, majestic Shannon” in poetry and song (e.g., The Pogues have a song by that name). I suspect “Come To the Bower” is where this originated, but I’m not sure. ↩