V.
Vainly she tries in her bosom to cherish
Her sick infant boy, 'mid the horrors around,
Till, faint and despairing, she sees her babe perish—
Then lifeless she sinks on the snow-cover'd ground.
VI.
Tho' the children of Ammon, with trumpets and psalters,
To devils pour'd torrents of innocent gore,
Let them blush from deep hell at the far redder altars
Where the death-dealing tyrants of Ireland adore!
VII.
But for Erin's life-current, thro' long ages flowing,
Dark demons that pierce her, you yet shall atone;
Even now the volcano beneath you is glowing,
And the Moloch of tyranny reels on his throne.
THE CLANCONNELL[1] WAR-SONG.—A.D. 1597.
Air—"Roderich Vich Alpine dhu."
I.
Proudly the note of the trumpet is sounding,
Loudly the war-cries arise on the gale,
Fleetly the steed by Lough Swilly is bounding
To join the thick squadrons in Samer's green vale.
On, every mountaineer!
Strangers to flight and fear;
Rush to the standard of dauntless Red Hugh![2]
