| Will you come to the bower o’er the free boundless ocean
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| Where stupendous waves roll in thundering motion
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| Where the mermaids are seen and the wild tempest gather
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| To loved Erin the green, the dear land of our fathers
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| Will you come, will you, will you, will you come to the bower
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| Will you come to the land of O’Neill and O’Donnell
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| Of Lord Lucan of old and the immortal O’Connell
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| Where Brian chased the Dane and St. Patrick the vermin
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| And whose valleys remain still most beautiful and charming
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| Will you come, will you, will you, will you come to the bower
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| You can visit Benburb and the storied Blackwater
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| Where Owen Roe met Munroe and his Chieftains did slaughter
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| Where the lambs skip and play on the mossy all over
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| From those bright golden views to enchanting Rostrevor
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| Will you come, will you, will you, will you come to the bower
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| You can see Dublin City and the fine groves of Blarney
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| The Bann, Boyne, the Pillar and the lakes of Killarney
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| You can ride on the tide on the broad majestic Shannon
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| You can sail round Lough Neagh and see storied Dungannon
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| Will you come, will you, will you, will you come to the bower
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| You can visit New Ross, gallant Wexford and Gorey
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| Where the green was last seen by proud Saxon and Tory
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| Where the soil is sanctified by the blood of each true man
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| Where they died satisfied that their enemies they would’t run from
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| Will you come, will you, will you, will you come to the bower
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| Will you come and awake our dear land from its slumber
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| And her fetters we’ll break, links that long are encumbered
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| And the air will resound with Hosannahs to greet you
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| On the shore will be found gallant Irishmen to greet you
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| Will you come, will you, will you, will you come to the bower |