The Spirit of the Nation/The Curse of the Renegades


Oh, shame light upon them, confusion and scorn!
Be their names sounds accurs'd to our children unborn!
No babe ever bless them—all sterile as base!
No wife ever press them—but perish their race!

Ere first the proud stranger invaded our shore,
A renegade rose up, and tempted him o'er;
And the Norman marauder no treachery planned,
'Till a renegade lured him with treason in hand!

The Dane in our feuds found the source of his power;
Not the people were false, but their chivalry's flower;
And Callachan, rushing from Cormac's old rock,
Through Lagenia's shrines carried Paynimry's shock.

Oh, vain was thy valour, Roydamna revered!
When a Nial's bright sword the idolator cheered;
Such princes, MacMurrough-like, courting the chain,
Deserved not, by heav'n! o'er such people to reign.

No page in our annals but teems with like guilt;
Each sword-point is blunted 'gainst treachery's hilt!
But for this we had shattered oppression's fell yoke—
But for this through each host of invaders had broke!

And now new Iscariots betray with a kiss,
And barter, like Judas, a birthright of bliss!
Motherland! they still wound thee with venomous tooth—
They slander thy fame, and proclaim it for truth!

Be the gold of their treason like hell's living fire,
No Pactolus at hand, when of torture they tire!
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!