How solemn sad by Shannon's flood
The blush of morning sun appears!
To men who gave for us their blood,
Ah! what can woman give but tears?
How still the field of battle lies!
No shouts upon the breeze are blown!
We heard our dying country's cries,
We sit deserted and alone,
Ogh hone, ogh hone, ogh hone, ogh hone,
Ogh hone, &c.,
Ah! what can woman give but tears!

Why thus collected on the strand
Whom yet the God of mercy saves,
Will ye forsake your native land?
Will you desert your brothers' graves?
Their graves give forth a fearful groan--
Oh! guard your orphans and your wives;
Like us, make Erin's cause your own,
Like us, for her yield up your lives.
Ogh hone, ogh hone, ogh hone, ogh hone,
Ogh hone, &c., Like us, for her yield up your lives.