A Song of the Sea for the Sea-Kings of Dublin

Storm is on the plain of Lir,
Bursting o'er its borders here:
Wind chases on the waters,
Stern Winter comes with slaughters
Crossing sea-ways dusk and drear.

The ploughing of Lir's vast plain
Brings to brave hosts pride and pain;
Nought glows above that glory
Save its own shining story
Told in Song's surpassing strain.

When the Wind blows from the East
Billow spirits rousing feast,
Driving past, they westward run
To shores of the setting Sun,
To the huge rough seas they haste.

When the Wind blows from the North
It drives hard bright billows forth,
To strands of the Southern World
Battling 'gainst the high sky hurl'd, —
Chanting loud the proud waves' worth.

When the Wind blows from the West,
O'er the strong salt current's crest,
It seeks the Tree of the Sun
Bearing isles its boughs upon,
Far in orient seas they rest.

When the Wind blows from the South
O'er great Saxon shields uncouth
Billows beat on Skit's x tall rock,
Calach meets their fury's shock.
Lashed with foam gray Shannon's mouth.

The high tide! the ocean wide!
Sailing ships delighted glide!
The glad wind gaily whirling,
Race Inver's ripples, twirling;
Swift the prows long seas divide!

Rest no more: rough, raging, high,
Tumbling breakers triumph cry;
Swan-hued all Mac Miled shows,
Clothed his clann in shifting snows,
Queen Manannan's tresses fly!

Huge heaving ocean urges
Up bays the storming surges,
Wind blows, white winter slaughters
On Cantire's — Alba's waters,
Floods fill Sliav Dremon's gorges.

Save, O Son of God, from harm,
When the awful gales alarm,
Thou, Lord, Who low descended,
Save me, when all is ended,
From deep Hell's stern horrid storm.