Oh! for Fingal, the pride of all the gallant Finian crew,
To wave his brand—the fight demand—and blow the Baraboo!
II.
O! for the Clana-Morni, the Clana-Deaġaḋ tall,
Dal-Reada's Knights of glory, who seal'd the Roman Wall!
O! for the darts that smote the hearts of Freedom's foreign foe,
When bloodier grew the fierce Croḃ-Ruaḋ[1] o'er bleak Helvetia's snow!
III.
O! for the battle-axes that smote the pirate Dane!
O! for the firm Dalcassians that fought on Ossory's plain!
And O! for those who wrathful rose the Saxon to withstand,
Till traitor arts and recreant hearts betray'd the patriot band!
IV.
Alas! our chiefs of glory will list no minstrel's call—
But, o'er their deathless story, can tyrants fling a pall?
Ye'll ne'er disgrace your ancient race, ye sons of fathers brave,
Arise and burst your bonds accurst—the tomb contains no slave!
V.
Arise ye, now or never—from heaven the martyr'd brave—
Command you to deliver the land they fought to save;
Then swear to die ere despots tie your limbs in bondage chain,
And let the shout ring boldly out o'er listening earth and main.
VI.
The fishers of Kilkerran, the men of Greenore bay—
The dwellers by Lough Dergert, and by the broad Lough Neagh—
Leave boat and oar, and leap ashore, to join the fiery ranks
That come in pride from Galtee's side, and from Blackwater's banks.
- ↑ "The bloody hand," the ensign of the Knights of the Red Branch.
