There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle,
'Twas St. Patrick himself, sure, that sets it;
And the sun of his labor with pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye often wet it.
It grows through the bog, through the brake, through the mireland,
And they call it the dear little Shamrock of Ireland.
(From an Irish song unknown author)
Madainn mhath
(Good morning)
Feashar math
(Good afternoon)
Oidhche mhath
(Good Evening)
Céad míle fáilte romhat!
(A hundred thousand welcomes)
Dia dhaoibh
(Hello to all)
Is mise Sile
(Sweet Sheilagh is my name)
Go raibh maith agat, a chara ceilidh
(Thank you my friend for visiting and sharing) and
Beannacht Lá Fhéile Pádraig (Happy St. Patrick's Day)
And
Saol fada chugat
(Long life to you)
