 | Songs and Poems by George Sigerson |  |
SLAN LEIS AN CHORRAN
Like men who wade through seas of gold
The reapers move, and, fold on fold,
Along the shorn and sunny mould,
The sheaves of harvest fall.
The reapers move, and, fold on fold,
Along the shorn and sunny mould,
The sheaves of harvest fall.
But, who is he who holds command,
Who wields the sickle like a brand?
No peasant this—a champion banned,
Whose eyes for combat call!
Who wields the sickle like a brand?
No peasant this—a champion banned,
Whose eyes for combat call!
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And, sudden, through the mist of morn,
Loud throbs the call of martial horn
The reapers shrink behind the corn,
He stands with stately head.
Loud throbs the call of martial horn
The reapers shrink behind the corn,
He stands with stately head.
Then comes with escort riding fast,
A Herald asking: “Hath there past,
A Chieftain, straight as Nephin mast,
Whose strong right hand is red?”
A Herald asking: “Hath there past,
A Chieftain, straight as Nephin mast,
Whose strong right hand is red?”
Prince Cathal spoke, with flashing eye,
“Your traitor tyrant I defy—
Who comes to capture comes to die.”
And raised his red right hand.
“Your traitor tyrant I defy—
Who comes to capture comes to die.”
And raised his red right hand.
Their lances glittered in the light,
The Herald cried with voice of might
“Twice welcome, Champion of the Right,
And Chieftain of our Land.
The Herald cried with voice of might
“Twice welcome, Champion of the Right,
And Chieftain of our Land.
“For he is dead, who wrought thee wrong
The clans for thee have suffered long,
They send this golden glaive and strong
To speak thy people's call.”
The clans for thee have suffered long,
They send this golden glaive and strong
To speak thy people's call.”
One glance he gave the harvest-hoard
Then Cathal kissed the glaive adored,
“Now, Farewell Sickle, Welcome Sword,
Till Sheaves of Foemen fall.”
Then Cathal kissed the glaive adored,
“Now, Farewell Sickle, Welcome Sword,
Till Sheaves of Foemen fall.”
| Songs and Poems by George Sigerson | |