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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 301
And you the hope, voice, battle-axe, the shield of us
and ours, A murdered, trunkless, blinding sight above these
Dublin towers !
Thy face is paler than the moon; my heart is paler
still — My heart? I had no heart—'twas yours, 'twas yours !
to keep or kill. And you kept it safe for Ireland, Chief—your life,
your soul, your pride; But they sought it in thy bosom, Shane—with proud
O'Neill it died. You were turbulent and haughty, proud and keen as
Spanish steel — But who had right of these, if not our Ulster's Chief,
O'Neill, Who reared aloft the " Bloody Hand " until it paled
the sun, And shed such glory on Tyrone as chief had never
done ?
He was " turbulent " with traitors; he was " haughty " with the foe;
He was " cruel," say ye, Saxons ! Ay ! he dealt ye blow for blow!
He was "rough" and "wild"—and who's not wild to see his hearthstone razed ?
He was " merciless as fire "—ah, ye kindled him—he blazed !
He was " proud "—yes, proud of birthright, and because he flung way
Your Saxon stars of princedom, as the rock does mocking spray. |
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