The Slight Red Steed

I slept, when — O wonder!
Dread sounds precede,
Thro' south-clouds in thunder
Flashed Knight and Steed!
"Ho, bard, dost thou slumber —
Or hast thou life?
Rouse, rouse thee — our number
Is armed for strife!"

I sprang, pale, affrighted,
In visioned dream,
All voiceless, benighted,
I some time seem;
The sweat-drops rolled under
By terror freed,
And my soul leaped in wonder
On the Slight Red Steed.

Soon, thousands of warriors
We stood among,
In a lios J — armed barriers
'Gainst grief and wrong.
Then queried I, sudden,
That brave, briht band:
"Shall the Gael aye be trodden
In their Fathers' Land?"

These tidings of glory-
Were told to me,
By my hand, 'twas a story
Of rapturous glee.
The spells of Clan London
Shall henceforth fail,
And their power be undone
Before the Gael.

What a joy to our sireland, —
What heart's delight —
When Freedom to Ireland
Comes through the night —
Like sunshine adorning
The dew-white mead,
Through clouds of the morning,
On the Slight Red Steed!