Where of old a tyrant's horde ply'd the lash,
She flung her blazon'd shield
On the far-illumin'd field,
And the lofty mountains reeled
With the clash.
V.
Clouds distent with gore
Above her darkly hang—
Lightnings leap before,
Around her thunders clang,
And marshall'd tempests roar like the sea.
Her splendour fills the air,
And the nations, in its glare,
By their broken altars swear
To be free!
VI.
Then our iron fetters fall
Like poison weeds around,
And lie inky as a pall
On the stain'd and loathing ground;
And the carrion-birds of heaven o'er them sail.
While the sound of joyful bells
On the laughing zephyr swells
From thy glorious em'ral' dells,
Innisfail!
VII.
The sounding woods rejoice,
And the waves around thee sing,
And the tones of Freedom's voice
Thro' thy ruin'd turrets ring;
And thy buried monarchs smile from the spheres.
And many a hallow'd name,
That long slept in silent shame,
Now in characters of flame
Bright appears.
