Pause, ere ye drive us in despair
To its appeal—from man to heaven!
From calmer eyes the furies glare,
And colder bosoms vengeance warms,
Till rage finds weapons, ev'ry where,
For Nature's two unbranded arms!
SONG OF THE IRISH ARMY, A.D. 1689.
We come, with drum and fife,
And the banner of the green,
And our arms for the strife,
They are glorious in their sheen;
No cause have we to tremble, I trow—
Outnumb'ring the waves
O'er which the tempest raves,
Let the Dutchman's hireling slaves
Tremble now.
Then onward while you may
Like an ocean in its might—
Let the Saxon war-trumps bray,
For God defends the right,
And on our efforts looks with a smile.
For the land of saints arise,
Spread the green flag to the skies,
And the hated Tyrant flies
From our isle.
By the margin of the shore
Let our serried thousands stand,
As our fathers stood of yore,
'Gainst the light-haired Danish band.
Let us meet them as they come from the deep—
And the sea-bird soon will shriek,
And the wild wave soon will break
O'er the spot where tyrants take
Their last sleep.
