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86 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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With piping and harping, and blessing of priest, Rode out in the blaze of the sun from the East, O Turlough MacSweeney !
Play as they played in that rapturous hour When the clans heard in gladness his young fiery call Who burst from the gloom of the Sassenach tower, And sped to the welcome in dear Donegal, Then on to his hailing as chieftain of all — O Turlough MacSweeney !
Play as they played, when, a trumpet of war, His voice for the rally, pealed up to the blue, And the Kerns from the hills and the glens and the
scaur Marched after the banner of conquering Hugh — Led into the fray by a piper like you,
O Turlough MacSweeney!
And surely no note of such music shall fail, Wherever the speech of our Eire is heard, To foster the hope of the passionate Gael, To fan the old hatred, relentless when stirred, To strengthen our souls for the strife to be dared, O Turlough MacSweeney!
May your pipes, silver-tongued, clear and sweet in
their crooning, Keep the magic they captured at dawning and even From the blackbird at home, and the lark on its
journey, From the thrush on its spray, and the little green
linnet.
A health to you, Piper ! |
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