Song of the Dead Insurgent

On Whit Monday morning,
The Goblin-foes begin,
They come, with scoff and scorning,
And fill the vale with din.

We flash the fire before us,
We smite around in chorus,
We raise the druid-mist o'er us
And let the sunshine in!

From Ulster came two thousand
True heroes to the fray,
Like hosts in Connacht rouse and
Advance with courage gay.

Our rest was short and scanty,
We gave them battles twenty,
And saw the dead in plenty,
At dark'ning close of day.

Take Munster home my greeting,
O Comrade, kind and good!
And say we faced the meeting
And armies strong withstood.

Say, children now are cheerless,
That maidens once so peerless,
With true men, frank and fearless,
Are lying in their blood.

My woe on Munster's slumbers,
When we rose out to fight,
And fronted tyrant numbers
With weapons keen and bright.

But now that all is over,
And fierce foes o'er us hover,
Tell Leinster true, I love her
Who kept the flame alight!

O youth, if 'mid the Living,
They question of that day,
And ask you how I've striven
And where I passed away —

Then say to each beholder,
That no man battled bolder, —
Though I, forgotten, moulder,
Beneath the mountain clay!