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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 501
The hilts of their falchions were crusted with gold, And the gems of their helmets were bright to behold; By Saint Bride of Kildare! but they moved in fair
show — To gorge the young eagles of dark Aherlow S |
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THE RATH OF MULLAGHMAST
O
'ER the Rath of Mullaghmast, On the solemn midnight blast, What bleeding spectres past, With their gash'd breasts bare ? Hast thou heard the fitful wail That o'erloads the sullen gale, When the waning moon shines pale O'er the curs'd ground there ?
Hark ! hollow moans arise Thro' the black tempestuous skie And curses, strife, and cries,
From the lone Rath swell; For bloody Sidney there, Nightly fills the lurid air With the unholy pomp and glare
Of the foul, deep hell.
He scorches up the gale, With his knights, in fiery mail; And the banners of the Pale O'er the red ranks rest. |
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