WE'VE bent too long to braggart wrong, While force our prayers derided; We've fought too long, ourselves among, By knaves and priests divided; @3United@1 now, no more we'll bow, Foul faction, we discard it; And now, thank God! our native sod Has Native Swords to guard it. II. Like livers, which, o'er valleys rich. Bring ruin in their water, On native land, a native hand Flung foreign fraud and slaughter. From Dermod's crime to Tudor's time Our clans were our perdition; Religion's name, since then, became Our pretext for division. III. But, worse than all, with Lim'rick's fall Our valour seem'd to perish; Or o'er the main, in France and Spain, For bootless vengeance flourish. The peasant, here, grew pale for fear He'd suffer for our glory, While France sang joy for Fontenoy, And Europe hymned our story. IV. But, now, no clan, nor factious plan, The East and West can sunder -- Why Ulster e'er should Munster fear Can only wake our wonder. Religion's crost, when union's lost, And "royal gifts" retard it; But now, thank God! our native sod Has Native Swords to guard it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOLACE by CLARISSA SCOTT DELANY A SNOWFLAKE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 95, 96. AL-AZALI, AL-BAKI by EDWIN ARNOLD INSTEAD OF TEARS by JOSEPH AUSLANDER TO LORD BYRON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD NEIGHBORS by ANNE MILLAY BREMER THE BALLADE OF THE SUMMER-BOARDER by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER |