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Loud roared the dreadful thunder, The rain a deluge showers. - Bay of Biscay [Thunder] There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle, 'Twas St. Patrick himself sure that set it; And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile, And with dew from his eye often wet it. It thrives through the bog, through the brake, and the mireland; And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland-- The sweet little shamrock, the dear little shamrock, The sweet little, green little, shamrock of Ireland! - Green little Shamrock of Ireland [Ireland]
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