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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
VII.
Then the war-cry sounded—‘Lamb-dearg Aboo!’
And the whole clan rushed to the battle plain:
They were thrice driven back, but they closed anew
That an end might come to their King's great pain.
'Twas a nation, not army, that onward rush'd,
'Twas a nation's blood from their wounds that gush'd:
Bare-bosom'd they fought, and with joy were slain;
Till evening their blood fell fast like rain;
But a shout swell'd up o'er the setting sun,
And O'Donnell died, for the field was won.
And the whole clan rushed to the battle plain:
They were thrice driven back, but they closed anew
That an end might come to their King's great pain.
'Twas a nation, not army, that onward rush'd,
'Twas a nation's blood from their wounds that gush'd:
Bare-bosom'd they fought, and with joy were slain;
Till evening their blood fell fast like rain;
30
And O'Donnell died, for the field was won.
So they buried their King upon Aileach's shore;
And in peace he slept;—O'Donnell More.
And in peace he slept;—O'Donnell More.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |