The pulse of an irishman

The pulse of an irishman - Ludwig van Beethoven (路德維希·凡·貝多芬)/Wolfgang Holzmair/Trio Wanderer (流浪者三重奏)

The pulse of an Irishman ever beats quicker

When war is the story or love is the theme

And place him where bullets fly thicker and thicker

You'll find him all cowardice scorning

And though a ball should maim poor Darby

Light at the heart he rallies on

Fortune is cruel but Norah my jewel

Is kind and with smiling all sorrow beguiling

Shall bid from our cabin all care to be gone

And how they will jig it and tug at the spigot

An Patrick's day in the morning

O blest by the land in the wide western waters

Sweet Erin loved Erin the pride of my song

Still brave be the sons and still fair be the daughters

Thy meads and thy mountains adorning

And though the eastern sun seems tardy

Though the pure light of knowledge slow

Night and delusion and darkling confusion

Like mists from the river shall vanish for ever

And true Irish hearts with warm loyalty glow

And proud exaltation burst forth from the nation

On Patrick's day in the morning