The Spirit of the Nation/Ninety-Eight

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Let all remember Ninety-eight, that hour of Ireland's woes—
When rapine red the land o'erspread, and flames of roof-trees rose—
When pity shrieked, and ruffians wreak'd their deadly demon hate,
And gibbets groan'd, and widows moaned, in fatal Ninety-eight!


In memory save the martyr'd brave, who fell in conflict vain,
By soldier's sword, or shameful cord, or in the convict's chain;
And those whose gore the red lash bore, when tyrants strode elate,
And pitchcaps clung, and tortures wrung, strong hearts in Ninety-eight!


When memory drear shall cease the tear for those that tyrant's crush'd,
May life depart our ingrate heart—our craven tongue be hush'd—
And may his worst of deeds accurst the despot perpetrate—
If swell not high, our rallying cry—Remember Ninety-eight!


And when the yoke, at length, is broke, that binds our island green,
And high acclaim shall swell her fame—broad ocean's emerald Queen!
A column fair, of sculpture rare, shall proudly celebrate
The faithful dead, whose blood was shed in fatal Ninety-eight!