The lilies and roses abandon the plains, Though the summer’s gone by, still the shamrock remains, Like a friend in misfortune it blossoms o’er the snow, For my heart’s in old Ireland wherever I go, Oh, my heart’s, &c. I sigh and I vow, if e’er I get home, No more from my dear native cottage I’ll roam; The harp shall resound, and the goblet shall flow, For my heart’s in old Ireland wherever I go, Oh, my heart’s, &c. I Think of Old Ireland wherever I Go. 13 I’m a wanderer, now, from the land of my birth, Far away from the scenes I hold dearest on earth, And I’ve seen both the beauties of the Nile and Arno, Still I think of old Ireland, wherever I go. CHORUS. I think of old Ireland, across the blue wave, I think of old Ireland, the land of the brave, ’Tis the home of the brave, where the wild shamrocks grow, Oh, I think of old Ireland, wherever I go. And ’tis soon I’ll be home, in the land I love best, In my own dearest Emerald Isle of the West, Though now I am chasing the wild buffalo, For I think of old Ireland wherever I go. Yet though far away from that dear blessed sod, I still offer up prayers to my country’s God, To chase from her borders the base Saxon foe, For I think of old Ireland wherever I go. Dear land of the shamrock, and sweet smelling brier, Dear scenes of my childhood which never could tire, When a boy I picked beech-nuts in wild Glenaboe, Oh, I think of old Ireland, wherever I go. And how oft have I drank out of Barranane’s Well, In whose clear waters there lurks a bright spell, The afflicted go there to find ease for their woe, For I think of old Ireland wherever I go. And how oft have I swam in the Blackwater’s tide, And roam’d the sweet wild woods around Castle Hyde, For it’s through its wild woodland the Blackwaters flow, Oh, I think of old Ireland wherever I go. And how oft have I sported through its pastures so green, Where the wild fragrant daisy can always be seen, For flowers in luxuriance there always do grow, Oh, I think of old Ireland wherever I go. But all my sad wanderings soon will be o’er, And that isle of my heart I will never leave more, Though deep is her sorrow, and bitter her woe, Oh, I think of old Ireland wherever I go. I Have Something Sweet to Tell You. 14