 | The Poems of Thomas Davis |  |
84
THE VICTOR'S BURIAL.
I
Wrap him in his banner, the best shroud of the brave—Wrap him in his onchu, and take him to his grave—
Lay him not down lowly, like bulwark overthrown,
But, gallantly upstanding, as if risen from his throne,
With his craiseach in his hand, and his sword on his thigh,
With his war-belt on his waist, and his cathbharr on high—
Put his fleasg upon his neck—his green flag round him fold,
Like ivy round a castle wall—not conquered, but grown old—
'Mhuire as truagh! A mhuire as truagh! A mhuire as truagh! ochon!
Weep for him! Oh! weep for him, but remember, in your moan,
That he died, in his pride,—with his foes about him strown.
II
Oh! shrine him in Beinn-Edair with his face towards the foe,As an emblem that not death our defiance can lay low—
85
To menace back The East, and to sentinel The West;
Sooner shall these channel waves the iron coast cut through,
Than the spirit he has left, yield, Easterlings! to you—
Let his coffin be the hill, let the eagles of the sea
Chorus with the surges round, the tuireamh of the free!
'Mhuire as truagh! A mhuire as truagh! A mhuire as truagh! ochon!
Weep for him! Oh! weep for him, but remember, in your moan,
That he died, in his pride,—with his foes about him strown!
| The Poems of Thomas Davis | |