Our islesmen arose from slumbers,
And buckled on their arms;
But few, alas! were their numbers
To Lochlin’s mailèd swarms.
And the blade of the bloody Norse
Has filled the shores of the Gael
With many a floating corse,
And with many a woman’s wail.
They have lighted the islands with ruin’s torch,
And the holy men of Iona’s church