Lament for the Milesians

O proud were the chieftains of proud Innis-Fail,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !
The stars of our sky and the salt of our soil,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !
Their hearts were as soft as a child in the lap,
Yet they were " the men in the gap " —
And now that the cold clay their limbs doth enwrap,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !

'Gainst England long battling, at length they went down,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !
But they've left their deep tracks on the road of renown,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !
We are heirs of their fame, if we're not of their race,
And deadly and deep our disgrace,
If we live o'er their sepulchres, abject and base,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !

O sweet were the minstrels of kind Innis-Fail !
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !
Whose music nor ages nor sorrow can spoil,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !
But their sad, stifled tones are like streams flowing hid,
Their keen and their pibroch were chid,
And their language, " that melts into music," forbid,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !

How fair were the maidens of fair Innis-Fail !
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n a bh-farradh !
As fresh and as free as the sea-breeze from soil,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh .'
O are not our maidens as fair and as pure ?
Can our music no longer allure ?
And can we but sob, as such wrongs we endure,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !

Their famous, their holy, their dear Innis-Fail,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !
Shall it still be a prey for the stranger to spoil?
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !
Sure, brave men would labour by night and by day
To banish that stranger away,
Or, dying for Ireland, the future would say,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !

O shame ! — for unchanged is the face of our isle,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'u-a bh-farradh !
That taught them to battle, to sing, and to smile,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !
We are heirs of their rivers, their sea, and their land,
Our sky and our mountains as grand —
We are heirs — O we're not ! — of their heart and their hand.
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh !