Echoes of Hibernia: An Ode to the Irish Spirit

In the lilting brogue of Irish shores, I'll weave a verse for thee,
A paean to the emerald isle, where hearts roam bold and free.
Oh, Éire, your rolling hills and bogs, they call your kin to stand,
To mind the roots that bind us to our dear and sacred land.

Your cliffs have faced the battering waves, your castles touched the clouds,
Your stories deep as oceans, your music fierce and loud.
‘Tis in the pubs and firesides, the craic is spun and told,
In Gaeilge or in English, your tales of old unfold.

Hold fast to your fiddles, your reels and jigs so spry,
Let them echo through the valleys, ‘neath the vast, unending sky.
With every pint and ballad, in the snug's embrace we find,
The soul of old Hibernia, and the kinship of our kind.

So stand, ye sons of Ireland, with a rebel's pride in heart,
For the land that bore you bravely, and set you well apart.
May your days be filled with laughter, your nights with songs to sing,
In the land of saints and scholars, may you let your freedom ring.

For the shamrock endures, wild and untamed by rule,
And the spirit of the Irish, it's no one's bloody fool.
Stand tall for your faith, in the green of your homeland,
For the world will know our story, and the will of Ireland's hand.