 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
155
ERIN'S WAR-SONG.
Up! Erin's battle-shout
The tombs of old is waking—
Fling the green banner out,
The Saxon yoke is breaking!
The heart-wrung sighs of centuries
Will soon be hushed forever,
And Slavery's brand our native land
Again shall blacken never!
Up! &c.
The tombs of old is waking—
Fling the green banner out,
The Saxon yoke is breaking!
The heart-wrung sighs of centuries
Will soon be hushed forever,
And Slavery's brand our native land
Again shall blacken never!
Up! &c.
Bare to the light once more
The blade that Brian wielded,
When, 'mid wild battle's roar,
The haughty Norseman yielded!
Achievements high of days gone by
Shall nerve us for the trial,
Though drops are shed on valor's head
From Fate's most deadly vial.
Up! &c
The blade that Brian wielded,
When, 'mid wild battle's roar,
The haughty Norseman yielded!
Achievements high of days gone by
Shall nerve us for the trial,
Though drops are shed on valor's head
From Fate's most deadly vial.
Up! &c
Con of the Hundred Fights
Awakes the green sod under;
Fired are the beacon-lights,
Our watch-word peals like thunder;
Old Tara's lyre with chords of fire
Unearthly hands are stringing,
And the proud lays of other days
Dim phantom forms are singing.
Up! &c.
Awakes the green sod under;
Fired are the beacon-lights,
Our watch-word peals like thunder;
Old Tara's lyre with chords of fire
Unearthly hands are stringing,
And the proud lays of other days
Dim phantom forms are singing.
Up! &c.
156
Swear by our martyred dead
Whose praise sad bard hath spoken;
Swear by the brave who bled
When Felim's shield was broken,
That Erin free, above the sea
Shall lift her head long clouded,
Or slain we'll rest, each pulseless breast
In war's deep crimson shrouded!
Up! Erin's battle-shout
The tombs of old is waking—
Fling the green banner out,
The Saxon yoke is breaking!
Whose praise sad bard hath spoken;
Swear by the brave who bled
When Felim's shield was broken,
That Erin free, above the sea
Shall lift her head long clouded,
Or slain we'll rest, each pulseless breast
In war's deep crimson shrouded!
Up! Erin's battle-shout
The tombs of old is waking—
Fling the green banner out,
The Saxon yoke is breaking!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |