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62 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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But slow at last, o'er heaps of slain, the Irish yield
apace, The many have the few o'ercome, and defeat is no
disgrace.
Oh ! Fingall—Fingall, what dread resolve now seizes on your mind ?
All, all is done that valor can—give way, and be resigned.
Swiftly he rush'd, as one possess'd, 'mid all that hostile train,
Seizing their king, with one wild bound, plung'd both into the main,
Then sudden, as if by frenzy sped, two Irish chiefs as brave,
The king's two brothers as quickly seized, and dash'd into the wave.
And Freedom smiled when she saw the deed, she knew the day was won;
But with that smile came a bitter tear—she had lost her favorite son.
With terror struck, the astonish'd Danes at every . point gave way,
And few were left to tell the tale of that destructive fray.
There was joy that week o'er all the land, from Bann
to Shannon's shore; For they said those Danish chiefs will come to spoil
our homes no more. But ere the song of mirth went round, or toast in hut
or hall, A tear was shed, and a prayer was said, for Fionn and
Fingall. |
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