Welcome to the Prince

LIFT up the drooping head,
Meehal Dubh Mac-Giolla-Kierin!

Her blood yet boundeth red
Through the myriad veins of Erin.

No! no! she is not dead
Meehal Dubh Mac-Giolla-Kierin!
Lo! she redeems
The lost years of bygone ages —
New glory beams
Henceforth on her History's pages!
Her long penitential Night of Sorrow
Yields at length before the reddening morrow!

You heard the thunder-shout,
Meehal Dubh Mac-Giolla-Kierin!
Saw the lightning streaming out
O'er the purple hills of Erin!
And, bide you yet in doubt,
Meehal Dubh Mac-Giolla-Kierin?
O! doubt no more!
Through Ulidia's voiceful valleys,
On Shannon's shore,
Freedom's burning spirit rallies.
Earth and Heaven unite in sign and omen
Bodeful of the downfall of our foemen.

Thurot commands the North,
Meehal Dubh Mac-Giolla-Kierin!

Louth sends her heroes forth,
To hew down the foes of Erin!

Swords gleam in field and gorth?

Meehal Dubh Mac-Giolla-Kierin!
Up! up! my friend!

There's a glorious goal before us;
Here will we blend
Speech and soul in this grand chorus:
"By the Heaven that gives us one more token,
We will die, or see our shackles broken!"

Charles leaves the Grampian hills,
Meehal Dubh Mac-Giolla-Kierin!

Charles, whose appeal yet thrills,
Like a clarion-blast, through Erin.

Charles, he whose image fills
Thy soul, too, Mac-Giolla-Kierin!
Ten thousand strong,
His clans move in brilliant order,
Sure that ere long
He will march them o'er the Border,
While the dark-haired daughters of the Highlands
Crown with wreaths the Monarch of three islands!

Fill, then, the ale-cup high,
Meehal Dubh Mac-Giolla-Kierin!
Fill! the bright hour is nigh
That shall give her own to Erin!
Those who so sadly sigh,
Even as you, Mac-Giolla-Kierin,
Henceforth shall sing.
Hark! — O'er heathery hill and dell come
Shouts for the King!
"Welcome, our Deliverer! Welcome!
Thousands this glad night, ere turning bed ward,
Will with us drink, "Victory to Charles Edward!"