Blue and lonely lakes a-stirring when the wind stirs overhead;

Tender living hearts that love them, and the graves of kindred dead.

They shall carry to the distant land a tear-drop in the eye And some shall go uncomforted, their days an endless sigh For Kathalen No Houlihan's sad face until they die.

Oh,Kathaleen No Houlihan, your road's a thorny way, And 'tis a faithful soul would walk on the flints with you for aye, Would walk the sharp and cruel flints until his locks grew grey, So some must wander to the East, and some must wander West;

Some seek the white wastes of the North and some a Southern nest;

Yet never shall they sleep so sweet as on your mother breast.

Within the city streets, hot hurried full of care A sudden dream shall bring them a whiff of Irish air -- A cool air, faintly-scented, blown soft from otherwhere Oh, the cabins long-deserted! Olden memories awake.

Oh, the pleasant, pleasant places! Hush! the blackbird in the brake!

Oh, the dear and kindly voices! Now their hearts are fain to ache.

The may win a golden store--sure the whins were golden too;

And no foreign skies hold beauty like the rainy skies they knew;

Nor any night-wind cool the brow as did the foggy dew.

They are going, going, going and we cannot bid them stay:

Their fields are now the stranger's,where the stranger's cattle stray, Oh! Kathaleen No Houlihan, your way's a thorny way!

- From Ethna Carbery's "The Four Winds of Eirinn"

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