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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 503 |
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At the feast, unarmed all, Priest, bard and chieftain fall In the treacherous Saxon's hall,
O'er the bright wine-bowl; And now nightly round the board, With unsheath'd and reeking sword, Strides the cruel felon lord
Of the blood-stain'd soul.
Since that hour the clouds that pass'd O'er the Rath of Mullaghmast, One tear have never cast
On the gore-dyed sod; For the shower of crimson rain, That o'erflowed that fatal plain, Cries aloud, and not in vain,
To the most high God;
Tho' the Saxon snake unfold At thy feet his scales of gold, And vow thee love untold,
Trust him not, Green Land ! Touch not with gloveless clasp A coil'd and deadly asp, But with strong and guarded grasp
In your steel-clad hand ! |
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