Long lie the rivers 
and green are the mountains
The hopes and the dreams of 
a nation so small
Land of the scholars,
the saints and tomorrow
Oh land of my father recall

   Was it for this that wild geese spread
   The grey wing on every tide
   For this that all that blood was shed
   For this Edward Fitzgerald died
   And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone
   All the delirium of the brave
   Romantic Ireland's dead and gone
   It's with O'Leary in the grave

Long lie the rivers and green are the mountains
The hopes and the dreams of a nation so small
Land of the scholars, the saints and tomorrow
Oh land of my father recall

   Yet should we turn the years again
   And call those exiles, as they were
   In all their loneliness and pain
   You'd cry, some woman's yellow hair
   Had maddened every mother's son
   They weighed so lightly what they gave
   But let them be, they're dead and gone
   They're with O'Leary in the grave

Long lie the rivers and green are the mountains
The hopes and the dreams of a nation so small
Land of the scholars, the saints and tomorrow
Oh land of my father recall

Long lie the rivers and green are the mountains
The hopes and the dreams of a nation so small
Land of the scholars, the saints and tomorrow
Oh land of my father recall