The stars are burning cheerily, cheerily
Ho-ro Mhai-ri-dhu, turn ye to me
The seabird is crying drearily, drearily
Ho-ro Mhai-ri-dhu, turn ye to me

Cold is the stormwind that ruffles his breast
But warm are the downy plumes lining his nest
Cold blows the storm there, soft falls the snow there
Ho-ro Mhai-ri-dhu, turn ye to me

The waves are dancing merrily, merrily
Ho-ro Mhai-ri-dhu, turn ye to me
The seabirds are wailing wearily, wearily
Ho-ro Mhai-ri-dhu, turn ye to me

Hushed be thy moaning, lone bird of the sea
Thy home on the rocks is a shelter to thee
Thy home the angry wave, mine but the lonely grave
Ho-ro Mhai-ri-dhu, turn ye to me

Hushed be thy moaning, lone bird of the sea
Thy home on the rocks is a shelter to thee
Thy home the angry wave, mine but the lonely grave
Ho-ro Mhai-ri-dhu, turn ye to me