VI.
By the crimson Clontarf, and the Liffey's dark waters—
By shore, vale, and stream, with our hearts' blood that runs!—
By Barrow and Boyne, conflagration and slaughter
Shall toss their red plumes in the blaze of our guns!
VII.
Ere for life the pale dastard his liberty barters,
Let him pause, for each sod is a patriot's tomb;
And if green are our vales, 'twas the blood of our martyrs
Enrich'd them for aye with that Emerald bloom.
VIII.
But go, living corse, and kneel down to the stranger
In thy festering cearment of infamy roll'd—
Go! traitor and cow'rd, in our deadliest danger,
Sell country and soul to the Saxon for gold.
IX.
Oh! burning reproach!—To such damning prostration
Has the fetter corroded God's image away,
That while curses and groans overwhelm the nation,
The sneering destroyer is hailed on his way!
X.
O'Toole and the Geraldine, Eustace, O'Farrell,
Chiefs who led Leinster to conquest of yore;
O'Byrne, MacMorragh, O'Melachlin, O'Carrol,
Plunket, and Nugent, O'Faly, O'More.
XI.
Shall we crouch on the plains where your sharp sabres clashing,
Lit the spring-tide of battle's magnificent flow;
As in midnight's deep gloom, o'er the stormy wave flashing,
The balefires of ruin exultingly glow?
XII.
Oh! never, by heaven! the nation hath spoken,
