The Ballad Of Brian Boru Song Lyrics
The Ballad Of Brian Boru Song Lyrics. This song is sung by a great person who is sadly now no longer with us The late dermot o’brien R.I.P. On an envoy `45 in 1969 (bollard/o’brien) Lyrics sent in by Patrick Burke. There are several other songs here by Dermot including Dublin Town In 1962
(chorus)
So here’s to you
Brave brian boru
The irish will always be gratefull to you
The love of your country was steadfast and true
When you drove the invaders from ireland
1
When irishmen speak of the brave days of old
Of battles victorious
Gallant rebold
The greatest of all of our heroes we’re told
Is brian the high king of ireland
(chorus as above)
2
The black sail invading ships
Sailed up the bay
Their dragon heads gleaming in mighty array
But brian stood dauntless
And said come what may
Those vikings will not be our masters
(chorus as above)
3
At Clontarf’s glorious battle
We routed the danes
Such glorious victory we will nere see again
At the end of the fight our brave hero
Was slain
But his castle still stands in his memory
(chorus as above)
4
Now down through the centurys
His memory lives on
The vikings were vanquished
The battle was won
So lift up your voices
And join me in song
To brian the high king of ireland
Wer’e singing here’s to you
Brave brian boru
The irish will always be gratefull to you
The love of your country was steadfast and true
And you drove the invaders from ireland
(last chorus as above)
BRIAN THE BRAVE LYRICS
The political results of Clontarf left the Munstermen bitter. It had been the families of the South that had borne the brunt of the battle; it was the rest of Ireland that was fighting over the spoils. This old song well describes the feelings of the southerners during the century after the death of Boru.
As is common to Irish ballads, the use of metaphor makes the song equally valid in other eras: substitute "Norman" for "Dane" and the lyrics fit the Irish reaction to Strongbow in a later time; replace "Saxon" for "Dane" and the song can be sung about the Desmond Wars, still later.
Remember the glories of Brian the Brave,
Though the days of the Hero are over,
Though lost to Mononia and cold in the grave,
He returns to Kincora no more.
That star of the field which so often
hath poured Its beam on the battle is set;
But enough of its glory remains on each sword
To light us to victory yet.
Mononia! When nature embellished the tint Of
thy fields and thy mountains so fair.
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print
The footsteps of slavery there?
No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign,
Go tell our invaders, the Danes,
That tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine
Than to sleep but a moment in chains.
Forget not our wounded companions who stood
In the day of distress by our side,
While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,
They stirred not, but conquered and died.
That sun which now blesses our arms with his light,
Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain-
Oh, let him not blush when he leaves us tonight,
To find that they fell there in vain.
The political results of Clontarf left the Munstermen bitter. It had been the families of the South that had borne the brunt of the battle; it was the rest of Ireland that was fighting over the spoils. This old song well describes the feelings of the southerners during the century after the death of Boru.
As is common to Irish ballads, the use of metaphor makes the song equally valid in other eras: substitute "Norman" for "Dane" and the lyrics fit the Irish reaction to Strongbow in a later time; replace "Saxon" for "Dane" and the song can be sung about the Desmond Wars, still later.
Remember the glories of Brian the Brave,
Though the days of the Hero are over,
Though lost to Mononia and cold in the grave,
He returns to Kincora no more.
That star of the field which so often
hath poured Its beam on the battle is set;
But enough of its glory remains on each sword
To light us to victory yet.
Mononia! When nature embellished the tint Of
thy fields and thy mountains so fair.
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print
The footsteps of slavery there?
No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign,
Go tell our invaders, the Danes,
That tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine
Than to sleep but a moment in chains.
Forget not our wounded companions who stood
In the day of distress by our side,
While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,
They stirred not, but conquered and died.
That sun which now blesses our arms with his light,
Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain-
Oh, let him not blush when he leaves us tonight,
To find that they fell there in vain.
KINCORA LYRICS
What is known of the Battle of Clontarf suggests that the casualties exceeded ten thousand, a very great slaughter indeed for the times. Victims to the carnage were Brian Boru himself, his eldest son and heir Murrough, the High King's grandson Turlough, the Scot Prince Donald of Mar, and the flower of Munster's sub-royalty. The losses to the Dálcassians and their allied tribes of Munster ensured that the High Kingship would pass back to Malachy Mór, whose army, after all, was intact after Clontarf.
This James Clarence Mangan poem is ostensibly a translation of a Gaelic lament for Brian Boru by Giolla MacLiag, file to the slain And Ri. Brian's palace at Kincora was near by the southwestern shore of Lough Derg, just north of Killaloe. The castle referred to in the last quatrain is probably BealBoru ("Pass of the Tributes"), a lakeside outpost of the MacKennedy family supposedly once connected by a mile-long covered passage to Kincora. Its ruins are still visible overlooking the lough.
Oh, where are the princes and nobles that sate
At the feast in thy halls, and drank the red wine?
Where oh, Kincora? Oh where, Kincora are thy valorous lords?
Oh whither, thou Hospitable! are they gone?
Oh where are the Dálcassians of the golden swords?
And where are the warriors Brian led on? Where oh, Kincora?
They are gone, those heroes of royal birth Who plundered no churches,
and broke no trust, Tis weary for me to be living on earth When they,
oh Kincora, lie low in the dust! Low oh, Kincora!
Oh, never again will princess appear,
To rival the Dálcassians of the cleaving swords!
I can never dream of meeting afar or anear,
In the East or the West, such heroes and lords! Never, Kincora?
Oh, dear are the images my memory calls up Of
Brian Boral-how he never would miss To give me at the banquet
the first bright Cup! Ah, why did he heap on me honour like this? Why oh, Kincora?
I am MacLiag and my home is on the lake; Thither often,
to that palace whose beauty is fled Came Brian to ask me,
and I went for his sake; Oh, my grief that
I should live, and Brian be dead! Dead oh, Kincora!
The Battle of Clontarf has often been trumpeted as a victory for Ireland. Certainly it was a disaster for the Danes-almost the entire coalition army was destroyed during the battle-but it is perhaps more accurate to describe the result as a political triumph for Malachy Mór.
The only Dálcassians of note to survive the 1014 campaign, Brian Boru's sons Donogh and Tadg, were soon quarrelling with
each other over the Munster succession. In the power vacuum, Malachy had no real opposition when he re-assumed the High Kingship that he had ceded to Brian a dozen years earlier. When the Meathman himself died in 1022, however, it was the signal for a general free-for-all with the Crown of Ireland the elusive goal. No single provincial king had the military or political skill to do more than make a claim on the title for almost a century. The High Kingship was finally shakily assumed by Turlough O'Connor of Connacht in 1119. The chroniclers, though, name even O'Connor Ard Ri with the exclusion co fresabra, "with opposition."
What is known of the Battle of Clontarf suggests that the casualties exceeded ten thousand, a very great slaughter indeed for the times. Victims to the carnage were Brian Boru himself, his eldest son and heir Murrough, the High King's grandson Turlough, the Scot Prince Donald of Mar, and the flower of Munster's sub-royalty. The losses to the Dálcassians and their allied tribes of Munster ensured that the High Kingship would pass back to Malachy Mór, whose army, after all, was intact after Clontarf.
This James Clarence Mangan poem is ostensibly a translation of a Gaelic lament for Brian Boru by Giolla MacLiag, file to the slain And Ri. Brian's palace at Kincora was near by the southwestern shore of Lough Derg, just north of Killaloe. The castle referred to in the last quatrain is probably BealBoru ("Pass of the Tributes"), a lakeside outpost of the MacKennedy family supposedly once connected by a mile-long covered passage to Kincora. Its ruins are still visible overlooking the lough.
Oh, where are the princes and nobles that sate
At the feast in thy halls, and drank the red wine?
Where oh, Kincora? Oh where, Kincora are thy valorous lords?
Oh whither, thou Hospitable! are they gone?
Oh where are the Dálcassians of the golden swords?
And where are the warriors Brian led on? Where oh, Kincora?
They are gone, those heroes of royal birth Who plundered no churches,
and broke no trust, Tis weary for me to be living on earth When they,
oh Kincora, lie low in the dust! Low oh, Kincora!
Oh, never again will princess appear,
To rival the Dálcassians of the cleaving swords!
I can never dream of meeting afar or anear,
In the East or the West, such heroes and lords! Never, Kincora?
Oh, dear are the images my memory calls up Of
Brian Boral-how he never would miss To give me at the banquet
the first bright Cup! Ah, why did he heap on me honour like this? Why oh, Kincora?
I am MacLiag and my home is on the lake; Thither often,
to that palace whose beauty is fled Came Brian to ask me,
and I went for his sake; Oh, my grief that
I should live, and Brian be dead! Dead oh, Kincora!
The Battle of Clontarf has often been trumpeted as a victory for Ireland. Certainly it was a disaster for the Danes-almost the entire coalition army was destroyed during the battle-but it is perhaps more accurate to describe the result as a political triumph for Malachy Mór.
The only Dálcassians of note to survive the 1014 campaign, Brian Boru's sons Donogh and Tadg, were soon quarrelling with
each other over the Munster succession. In the power vacuum, Malachy had no real opposition when he re-assumed the High Kingship that he had ceded to Brian a dozen years earlier. When the Meathman himself died in 1022, however, it was the signal for a general free-for-all with the Crown of Ireland the elusive goal. No single provincial king had the military or political skill to do more than make a claim on the title for almost a century. The High Kingship was finally shakily assumed by Turlough O'Connor of Connacht in 1119. The chroniclers, though, name even O'Connor Ard Ri with the exclusion co fresabra, "with opposition."
By 1013 Brian Boru's High Kingship was in trouble. King Svein of Denmark had conquered Britain, encouraging the Ostman King Sitric of Dublin and his ally MaelMórda of Leinster to rise against the Ard Rf. The rebellious sovereigns enlisted aid from Malachy's neighbors in Breffny and the Northern O'Neill, effectively neutralising the Meathman; Sitric and MaelMórda then simply outwaited a three-month siege by Brian on easily supplied Dublin. Boru finally lifted the "blockade" just before Christmas.
During the winter months, both sides prepared for the coming spring campaign. Sitric and MaelMorda managed to form an impressive coalition of Northmen from the Orkneys and Normandy, Danes from Scandinavia and Britain, Leinstermen, and Dublin Norse-Irish. The High King was not as persuasive among the Irish, demonstrating clearly that the "unity" of Ireland under Brian was more legend than fact. Outside of two minor clans, Connacht stood apart awaiting developments. Breffny and the Northern O'Neill remained hostile to Brian and Malachy, but sagely refused to commit openly for the "Foreigners of the West of Europe" until they could see which way the wind blew. Only the Southern O'Neill seemed willing to stand by the Ard Ri's Munstermen.
On the eve of the 23 April 1014 Battle of Clontarf, the bitterest desertion of all befell the High King. For a reason not known to history, Malachy Mór led his Southern O'Neill army from the Irish camp near Dublin. Brian Boru, now seventy-three, was to fight the Good Friday battle with only two small renegade Connacht clans and a contingent of Scot gallowglass to add to his Munster forces.
During the winter months, both sides prepared for the coming spring campaign. Sitric and MaelMorda managed to form an impressive coalition of Northmen from the Orkneys and Normandy, Danes from Scandinavia and Britain, Leinstermen, and Dublin Norse-Irish. The High King was not as persuasive among the Irish, demonstrating clearly that the "unity" of Ireland under Brian was more legend than fact. Outside of two minor clans, Connacht stood apart awaiting developments. Breffny and the Northern O'Neill remained hostile to Brian and Malachy, but sagely refused to commit openly for the "Foreigners of the West of Europe" until they could see which way the wind blew. Only the Southern O'Neill seemed willing to stand by the Ard Ri's Munstermen.
On the eve of the 23 April 1014 Battle of Clontarf, the bitterest desertion of all befell the High King. For a reason not known to history, Malachy Mór led his Southern O'Neill army from the Irish camp near Dublin. Brian Boru, now seventy-three, was to fight the Good Friday battle with only two small renegade Connacht clans and a contingent of Scot gallowglass to add to his Munster forces.
The Coming of the Stranger
The inviolability of the Celtic island was first breached late in the eighth century when the Vikings began to make sporadic forays along the shores of Ireland. At first, the raids were swift one-ship assaults on tiny coastal villages clearly unable to defend themselves. With increasing frequency, however, the shallow- draught longships appeared upriver searching for the monasteries, the most rewarding prizes.
Not able to muster defenders quickly enough to ward off these unpredictable attacks, the vulnerable monastic communities were forced to depend on the hereditary Irish ally, the sea. A quatrain, apparently written by a monk during the early ninth century, gives some idea of the Norsemen's impact:
The wind is at war tonight,
Whipping the waves of the white-winged sea; No fear to find the Irish Sea
Crossed by savage Scandinavians.
At best, the sea was an inconstant ally.
In 837 the Vikings came to stay. The heretofore-isolated Irish must have looked on with awe as a fleet of over one hundred Norse vessels made their way boldly up the Rivers Boyne and Liffey, disgorging their axe-wielding, flaxon-haired warriors. The amazement would have turned quickly to horror when it became clear what the helmeted strangers were after. Within the century, the Danes had established permanent raiding bases all along the Irish coast. These "booty depots" were to evolve into the trading towns of Dublin, Waterford, Wexford, Youghal, Cork, Bantry, and Limerick. The squabbling Irish chieftains, unable to stand alone against the onslaught of the professional Norse commandos, began to turn to the savage tribes of Britain and Scotland for mercenary help. These gallóglaigh, or "foreign youth," were to become a staple of Irish fighting forces for the next eight centuries.
The Vikings were not interested in taking real estate for its own sake; certainly they had no desire to herd cattle or work the land. Rather, they were content to remain in garrison operating what has been called "a sort of primitive protection racket." They took to the countryside only on occasional plundering missions to chastise those tribes who would not come up with the required tribute. Since these were tactics not unfamiliar to the Gael, the Northmen soon came to be looked upon as just an- other group of strongmen by a society that admired strongmen. If these queer men of the North valued gold over cattle, it was no stranger than their butter-coloured hair to the bemused Irish. An almost inevitable merging of cultures began. The Danes, far from home, took Irish brides and learned the Irish language
unquestionably in that order. The Gaels, for their part, were pleased to learn the use of Norse weapons of War. Ensuing internecine wars took on the character of rows between contending coalitions of Norse-Irish with the battle-axe prominent on both sides.
Few Irish clans stood aloof from the intrigues. One that at- tempted to use the Norsemen for their own purposes was the de- clining Eoghanacht dynasty of the South. The Munster King Cellachán gathered an army of Vikings from Waterford and Limerick in 939 to resist the encroachments of the remarkable king of the Northern O'Neill, Murtough "of the Leathern Cloaks." Murtough had been little troubled by the martial ability of the Northmen, even defeating them at sea and plunder- ing their settlements (the Viking towns were by now sufficiently established to be as vulnerable as had been the Irish monasteries a century earlier). In the ensuing campaign Cellachán was taken prisoner by the northerner and, when he returned to Munster after Murtough's death in 943, the Eoghanacht king found that the power vacuum created by his absence had been filled by the Vikings of Limerick. Though Cellachán managed to maintain his title until his death in 954, he could do little to prevent the Limerick Norse from moving further afield in their unending search for plunder. As they did, the DálCais, a minor Thomond clan, began to feel the sting of the Northern raiders for the first time. The Dálcassian King Mahon blamed the Eoghanachts for abdicating their "royal responsibility" and rose against them in 954. After ousting the old dynasty from the Munster throne at Cashel, Mahon turned on the local Vikings and drove them out of Limerick in 967. The intrepid Danes soon returned and, with Eoghanacht aid, succeeded in killing the upstart Mahon in 976. The shaky Dálcassian claim to the suzerainty of Munster was swiftly assumed by Mahon's brother Brian MacKennedy, an am- bitious war-lord who was now to storm out of the obscurity of Thomond with sword and battle-axe to emblazon his more familiar cant name on the pages of both Gaelic and Norse saga- Brian Boru.
As Brian launched his whirlwind campaign to "liberate" Munster, the young King of the Southern O'Neill, Malachy MacDonnell, recognised the Viking preoccupation with events in the South as his own opportunity. Malachy ousted the Danes from the North and forced the grudging submission of the Gaelic lords of Ulster and the Northern O'Neill. By 981 he had overrun the "Kingdom of the Ostmen" at Dublin, winning the appellation Mór ("the Great"), and had been proclaimed High King at Tara. Three years later, Brian's hold on the South was sufficiently se- cure to persuade malachy Mór to conclude a pact with the Mun- ster lord: Brian was to hold sway in the South while the High King was acknowledged lord of the North. When the Dublin Ostmen attempted a rising against Malachy in 998, the two kings defeated the penultimate Viking gasp at GlenMáma on the Kildare/Wicklow frontier. Brian took Dublin the next year.
In 1002 Brian-who had been strengthening his forces even in time of peace-made a triumphant "grand tour" of Ireland, flexing his military muscle and collecting cattle tribute from the clans. Malachy Mór got the message. In 1004 at Tara, Brian Bóirbme became Emperor of the Irish. Until his death a decade later, Boru ruled as undisputed ruler of the island. For the first and so far-last time, Ireland was a united land ruled by Irish-
men.
Unnamed Ballad
The short decades of "autonomous unity" under Brian Boru and Malachy Mór have been romantically viewed by later generations of nationalists as the historical pinnacle of Irish political success. Hence the enduring war-cry: "Reunite Ireland!" Per- haps of more importance to the National Tradition is the way Brian unified Ireland. The sanguinary sword of Boru has stood example to countless Irishmen who have come to believe that only the martial tramp of the native will again free Innisfail from the Invader.
Lionel Johnson, author of the following verse, echoed that belief many centuries later "from his barstool in The Cheshire Cheese in London." Benedict Kiely submits that in "the company of the 'lost generation' of poets of whom he was one of the most notably lost," Johnson "could write about Ireland as nobly as he had written about the statue of King Charles at Charing Cross."
A terrible and splendid trust
Heartens the host of Innisfail:
Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust,
A lightning glory of the Gael.
Croagh Patrick is the place of prayers,
And Tara the assembling place.
But each sweet wind of Ireland bears
The tramp of battle on its race.
From Dursey Isle to Donegal,
From Howth to Achill, the glad noise Rings:
and the heirs of glory fall,
Or victory crowns their fighting joys.
A dream! A dream! An ancient dream!
Yet ere peace come to Innisfail
Some weapons on some field must gleam,
Some burning glory fire the Gael
The inviolability of the Celtic island was first breached late in the eighth century when the Vikings began to make sporadic forays along the shores of Ireland. At first, the raids were swift one-ship assaults on tiny coastal villages clearly unable to defend themselves. With increasing frequency, however, the shallow- draught longships appeared upriver searching for the monasteries, the most rewarding prizes.
Not able to muster defenders quickly enough to ward off these unpredictable attacks, the vulnerable monastic communities were forced to depend on the hereditary Irish ally, the sea. A quatrain, apparently written by a monk during the early ninth century, gives some idea of the Norsemen's impact:
The wind is at war tonight,
Whipping the waves of the white-winged sea; No fear to find the Irish Sea
Crossed by savage Scandinavians.
At best, the sea was an inconstant ally.
In 837 the Vikings came to stay. The heretofore-isolated Irish must have looked on with awe as a fleet of over one hundred Norse vessels made their way boldly up the Rivers Boyne and Liffey, disgorging their axe-wielding, flaxon-haired warriors. The amazement would have turned quickly to horror when it became clear what the helmeted strangers were after. Within the century, the Danes had established permanent raiding bases all along the Irish coast. These "booty depots" were to evolve into the trading towns of Dublin, Waterford, Wexford, Youghal, Cork, Bantry, and Limerick. The squabbling Irish chieftains, unable to stand alone against the onslaught of the professional Norse commandos, began to turn to the savage tribes of Britain and Scotland for mercenary help. These gallóglaigh, or "foreign youth," were to become a staple of Irish fighting forces for the next eight centuries.
The Vikings were not interested in taking real estate for its own sake; certainly they had no desire to herd cattle or work the land. Rather, they were content to remain in garrison operating what has been called "a sort of primitive protection racket." They took to the countryside only on occasional plundering missions to chastise those tribes who would not come up with the required tribute. Since these were tactics not unfamiliar to the Gael, the Northmen soon came to be looked upon as just an- other group of strongmen by a society that admired strongmen. If these queer men of the North valued gold over cattle, it was no stranger than their butter-coloured hair to the bemused Irish. An almost inevitable merging of cultures began. The Danes, far from home, took Irish brides and learned the Irish language
unquestionably in that order. The Gaels, for their part, were pleased to learn the use of Norse weapons of War. Ensuing internecine wars took on the character of rows between contending coalitions of Norse-Irish with the battle-axe prominent on both sides.
Few Irish clans stood aloof from the intrigues. One that at- tempted to use the Norsemen for their own purposes was the de- clining Eoghanacht dynasty of the South. The Munster King Cellachán gathered an army of Vikings from Waterford and Limerick in 939 to resist the encroachments of the remarkable king of the Northern O'Neill, Murtough "of the Leathern Cloaks." Murtough had been little troubled by the martial ability of the Northmen, even defeating them at sea and plunder- ing their settlements (the Viking towns were by now sufficiently established to be as vulnerable as had been the Irish monasteries a century earlier). In the ensuing campaign Cellachán was taken prisoner by the northerner and, when he returned to Munster after Murtough's death in 943, the Eoghanacht king found that the power vacuum created by his absence had been filled by the Vikings of Limerick. Though Cellachán managed to maintain his title until his death in 954, he could do little to prevent the Limerick Norse from moving further afield in their unending search for plunder. As they did, the DálCais, a minor Thomond clan, began to feel the sting of the Northern raiders for the first time. The Dálcassian King Mahon blamed the Eoghanachts for abdicating their "royal responsibility" and rose against them in 954. After ousting the old dynasty from the Munster throne at Cashel, Mahon turned on the local Vikings and drove them out of Limerick in 967. The intrepid Danes soon returned and, with Eoghanacht aid, succeeded in killing the upstart Mahon in 976. The shaky Dálcassian claim to the suzerainty of Munster was swiftly assumed by Mahon's brother Brian MacKennedy, an am- bitious war-lord who was now to storm out of the obscurity of Thomond with sword and battle-axe to emblazon his more familiar cant name on the pages of both Gaelic and Norse saga- Brian Boru.
As Brian launched his whirlwind campaign to "liberate" Munster, the young King of the Southern O'Neill, Malachy MacDonnell, recognised the Viking preoccupation with events in the South as his own opportunity. Malachy ousted the Danes from the North and forced the grudging submission of the Gaelic lords of Ulster and the Northern O'Neill. By 981 he had overrun the "Kingdom of the Ostmen" at Dublin, winning the appellation Mór ("the Great"), and had been proclaimed High King at Tara. Three years later, Brian's hold on the South was sufficiently se- cure to persuade malachy Mór to conclude a pact with the Mun- ster lord: Brian was to hold sway in the South while the High King was acknowledged lord of the North. When the Dublin Ostmen attempted a rising against Malachy in 998, the two kings defeated the penultimate Viking gasp at GlenMáma on the Kildare/Wicklow frontier. Brian took Dublin the next year.
In 1002 Brian-who had been strengthening his forces even in time of peace-made a triumphant "grand tour" of Ireland, flexing his military muscle and collecting cattle tribute from the clans. Malachy Mór got the message. In 1004 at Tara, Brian Bóirbme became Emperor of the Irish. Until his death a decade later, Boru ruled as undisputed ruler of the island. For the first and so far-last time, Ireland was a united land ruled by Irish-
men.
Unnamed Ballad
The short decades of "autonomous unity" under Brian Boru and Malachy Mór have been romantically viewed by later generations of nationalists as the historical pinnacle of Irish political success. Hence the enduring war-cry: "Reunite Ireland!" Per- haps of more importance to the National Tradition is the way Brian unified Ireland. The sanguinary sword of Boru has stood example to countless Irishmen who have come to believe that only the martial tramp of the native will again free Innisfail from the Invader.
Lionel Johnson, author of the following verse, echoed that belief many centuries later "from his barstool in The Cheshire Cheese in London." Benedict Kiely submits that in "the company of the 'lost generation' of poets of whom he was one of the most notably lost," Johnson "could write about Ireland as nobly as he had written about the statue of King Charles at Charing Cross."
A terrible and splendid trust
Heartens the host of Innisfail:
Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust,
A lightning glory of the Gael.
Croagh Patrick is the place of prayers,
And Tara the assembling place.
But each sweet wind of Ireland bears
The tramp of battle on its race.
From Dursey Isle to Donegal,
From Howth to Achill, the glad noise Rings:
and the heirs of glory fall,
Or victory crowns their fighting joys.
A dream! A dream! An ancient dream!
Yet ere peace come to Innisfail
Some weapons on some field must gleam,
Some burning glory fire the Gael
