If you ever go across the sea to Ireland,
Then maybe at the closing of your day,
You can sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh,
And see the sun go down on Galway Bay
Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream,
The women in the meadow making hay,
Just to sit beside the turf fire in a cabin,
And watch the barefoot gosoons as they play
Ooooh
For the breezes blowing o'er the sea's from Ireland,
Are perfumed by the heather as they blow,
And the women in the uplands digging praties,
Speak a language that the strangers do not know
Yet the strangers came and tried to teach us their ways,
And they scorned us just for being what we are,
But they might as well go chasin after moon beams,
Or light a penny candle from a star
And if there's gonna be a life here after,
And faith somehow I'm sure there's gonna be,
I will ask my God to let me make my Heaven,
In that dear land across the Irish sea
I will ask my God to let me make my Heaven,
In my dear land across the Irish sea
Oooooooh
In my dear land across the Irish sea
Kommentare
Galway Bay
If maybe someday I'll go back to Ireland,
Be it only at the closing of my day,
To see again the moonlight over Claddagh,
And watch the sun go down on Galway Bay.
To see again the ripple of a trout stream,
The women in the meadows baling hay.
Just to sit beside a turf fire in a cabin,
And watch the barefoot gosoons at their play.
The winds that blow across the bogs from Ireland
Are perfumed by the heather as they blow
And the women in the uplands digging praties
Speak a language that the English do not know.
And yet they come and try to teach us their way.
They blame us just for being what we are.
But they might as well go try and catch a moonbeam,
Or light a penny candle from a star.
And if there's going to be a life hereafter,
And somehow I feel sure there's going to be,
I will ask my God to let me make my heaven,
In that dear land across the Irish Sea.
Written by Dr. Arthur Colahan (1885-1952)