IV.
Around my clarseach's speaking measures
Men like their fathers tall arise—
Their heart the same deep hatred treasures,
I read it in their kindling eyes!
The same proud brow to frown at danger—
The same dark coolin's[1] graceful flow—
The same dear tongue to curse the stranger—
Ma chreevin evin, alga O!
V.
I'd sing ye more but age is stealing
O'er my pulse and tuneful fires;
Far bolder woke my chord appealing
For craven Shemus to your sires.
Arouse to vengeance men of bravery,
For broken oaths—for altars low—
For bonds that bind in bitter slavery—
Ma chreevin evin, alga O!
A RALLY FOR IRELAND.
MAY, 1689.
I.
Shout it out, till it ring
From Benmore to Cape Clear;
For our Country, and King,
And Religion so dear,
Rally, rally—Irishmen! rally;
Form round the flag, that wet with our tears,
And torn, and bloody, lay hid for long years,
And now once again in its pride re-appears.
See from The Castle our Green Banner waves!
- ↑ The flowing locks of the ancient Irish.
