THE RAPPAREE'S HORSE AND SWORD.
[_]
Air—Cad é sin don té sin.
I
My name is Mac Sheehy from Feale's swelling flood,
A rapparee rover by mountain and wood:
I have two trusty comrades to serve me at need,—
This sword at my side and my gallant grey steed.
II
Now where did I get them,—my gallant grey steed,
And my sword keen and trusty to serve me at need?
This sword was my father's—in battle he died—
And I reared my bold Isgur by Feale's woody side.
III
I've said it, and say it, and care not who hear,
Myself and grey Isgur have never known fear:
There's a dint on my helmet, a hole through his ear:
'Twas the same bullet made them at Limerick last year!
IV
And the soldier who fired it was still ramming down,
When this long sword came right with a slash on his crown;
Dhar Dhee! He will never fire musket agen,
For his skull lies in two at the side of the glen!
V
When they caught us one day at the castle of Brugh,
Our black-hearted foemen, a merciless crew:
Like a bolt from the thunder-cloud Isgur went through,
And my sword,—ah, it gave them what long they will rue!
VI
Together we sleep under rough crag or tree,—
My soul, there were never such comrades as we!
I, Brian the Rover, and my two friends at need—
This sword at my side and my gallant grey steed.
