And the print of their blood-red hands
Was left on the altar cup.
’Twas then that the Norseman to Aodh said,
“Tell where thy church’s treasure’s laid,
Or I’ll hew thee limb from limb.”
As he spoke the bell struck three,
And every torch grew dim
That lighted their revelry.
But the torches again burnt bright,
And brighter than before,