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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 61 |
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Boldly they come o'er the swelling tide, their men as
wild and free As winds that play on the mountain's side, or waves
that course the sea. |
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And well they come to free their king from robbers of
the main; His sceptre ne'er a tyrant's rod, nor his rule a tyrant's
chain. And onward towards the foe they steer—a sight sublimely grand — War's stern array hath there an awe it never knows
on land. Soon many a sword salutes the sun, drawn in that
deadly strife, From many a heart that bounded high soon flows the
tide of life. The king—the king—to free the king bold Fionn
. hews his way, And woe to him who meets his sword on this eventful
day.
The king is won; but the lion heart that sets his master free
Is deeply pierced—as he cuts the cord his life-blood
;■ • dyes the sea.
Brave Fionn's head is held on high, the Irish to appal,
But they rush more fiercely to the fight, led on by young Fingall.
Sternly, foot to foot and sword to sword, for death or life they meet,
And brave, though few, they, long withstand the hordes of Sitrick's fleet; |
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