Erin’s sons, who, all undaunted, hear thy tinsel bravery vaunted,
See their isle coercion-haunted—yet their patriots’ lives implore.
Is there, is their hope of respite? Tell us, tell us, we implore!
Croaks brave Balfour, “Tullamore.”
And brave Balfour, venom spitting, chief in council still is sitting,
While the pallid face of Dillon smiles behind his prison door;
For he sees, beyond all seeming, Erin’s dawn of Justice beaming,
Knows that when the daylight streaming throws its radiance o’er her shore
Erin’s soul from out thy shadow, that now desecrates her shore,
Shall be lifted, Tullamore!