Irish Minstrelsy/Volume 2/Part 3/Shane Bui
SHANE BUI.1
BY HENRY GRATTAN CURRAN.
Oh where are the heroes—the lights of our story,
Our land from the Dane that defended?
Could death yield them back, with their bright wreath
of glory,
One more living leaf might be blended;
Could our pray'rs the proud Finians recall from their
slumber,
Oh the pride of the world we'd again be!
Not a foe to our prince Erin's soil should encumber.
And woe to the power of Shane Bui.
The shrines of our faith are destroyed and polluted.
By treacherous wolves that assailed us;
The race of our mighty is fall'n and uprooted—
Oh weep, for our high hope has failed us.
Rude jargon our sweet native language supplanting;
Mute, mute, shall the harp's thrilling strain be;
Till Charles, with his flag on the ocean breeze flaunting,
Shall humble the power of Shane Bui.
Oh sad is my heart, that for exile and danger.
Our generous prince should have left us;
But Banba's wild curse shall alight on the stranger,
Whose perfidy thus hath bereft us:
Dread Avenger Supreme! hear my soul's supplication!
Swift, swift, let his course o'er the main be!
Our Charles shall bind up the deep wounds of the nation.
And Erin exult over Shane Bui.