THE RATH OF MULLAGHMAST.
I.
O'er the Rath of Mullaghmast,
On the solemn midnight blast,
What bleeding spectres pass'd,
With their gash'd breasts bare?
Hast thou heard the fitful wail
That o'erloads the sullen gale,
When the waning moon shines pale
O'er the curs'd ground there?
II.
Hark! hollow moans arise
Thro' the black tempestuous skies,
And curses, strife, and cries,
From the lone Rath swell;
For bloody Sydney, there,
Nightly fills the lurid air
With th' unholy pomp and glare
Of the foul, deep hell.
III.
He scorches up the gale,
With his knights, in fiery mail;
And the banners of the Pale
O'er the red ranks rest.
But a wan and gory band
All apart and silent stand,
And they point th' accusing hand
At that hell-hound's crest!
IV.
Red streamlets, trickling slow,
O'er their clotted cooluns flow,
And still and awful woe
