May the bread of their falsehood no nutriment lend!
May each willow affright them to Judas's end!
Arise, blessed Patrick! complete thy good work;
Unkennel these reptiles wherever they lurk;
These black, bloated vipers, and renegades vile—
Oh, pitiless, slay, and unvenom our isle!
THE SAXON SHILLING.
I.
Hark! a martial sound is heard—
The march of soldiers, fifing, drumming;
Eyes are staring, hearts are stirr'd—
For bold recruits the brave are coming.
Ribands flaunting, feathers gay—
The sounds and sighs are surely thrilling,
Dazzl'd village youths to-day
Will crowd to take the Saxon Shilling.
II.
Ye, whose spirits will not bow
In peace to parish tyrants longer—
Ye, who wear the villain brow,
And ye who pine in hopeless hunger—
Fools, without the brave man's faith—
All slaves and starvlings who are willing
To sell yourselves to shame and death—
Accept the fatal Saxon Shilling.
III.
Ere you from your mountains go
To feel the scourge of foreign fever,
Swear to serve the faithless foe
That lures you from your land for ever!
Swear henceforth its tools to be—
To slaughter trained by ceaseless drilling—
Honour, home, and liberty,
Abandon'd for a Saxon Shilling.
