Our Irish Champion’s numbered with the dead;
And he who never did to mortal bend,
By Death’s cut short, and Ireland’s lost her friend.
Ah! cruel Death, why were you so unkind,
To take Sir Dan, and leave such trash behind
As Gregson, Cooper, Carter—such a clan
To leave behind, and take so great a man?
Oh! Erin’s daughters, come and shed your tears
On your bold Champion’s grave, whose shortened years
Have made Erin’s sons this day a day of sorrow—