The Flight of the Earls

Lo, our land this night is lone!
Hear ye not sad Erinn's moan?
Maidens weep and true men sorrow,
Lone the Brave Race night and morrow.

Lone this night is Fola's plain, —
Though the foemen swarm amain —
Far from Erinn, generous-hearted,
Far her Flower of Sons is parted.

They have crossed the Spanish foam,
To their great Forefather's home;
Though from populous Erinn gone,
They have left behind not one.

Great the hardship! great the grief!
Ulster wails Tirconaill's Chief,
From Emain west to Assarue
Wails gallant, gentle, generous Hugh.

Children's joy no more rejoices, —
Fetters silence Song's sweet voices —
Change upon our chiefs, alas!
Bare the altar, banned the Mass.

Homes are hearthless, harps in fetters,
Guerdons none for men of letters,
Banquets none, nor merry meetings,
Hills ring not the chase's geeetings.

Songs of war make no heart stronger,
Songs of peace inspire no longer, —
In great halls, at close of days,
Sound no more pur Fathers' lays.

Bregia's plain now hears no more
Great Milesian deeds of yore;
Unsung the rout, o'er hill and hollow
When foemen flee and gay Gael follow!

Thus is Erinn's sad estate,
This henceforth must be her fate;
Long the ban will lie upon her, —
Helpless long in hard dishonour.

Now come, — it must, alas! be said —
Egyptian rule upon her head;
The faithless host round Troja's walls,
The fate of Babylonian halls.

Foemen camp in Neimid's plains;
Who shall break our heavy chains?
What Naisi, son of Conn, shall prove
A Moses to the land we love?

She has none who now can aid her,
All have gone before the invader;
Banba's bonds and cruel cross
Steal the very soul from us!