Host of armour, red and bright,
May ye fight a valiant fight!
For the green spot of the earth,
For the land that gave you birth.
Like a wild beast in his den,
Lies the chief by hill and glen,
While the strangers, proud and savage,
Creean’s richest valleys ravage.
When old Leinster’s sons of fame,
Heads of many a warlike name,
Redden their victorious hilts,
On the Gaul, my soul exults.
When the grim Gaul, who have come,
Hither o’er the ocean foam,
From the fight victorious go,
Then my heart sinks deadly low.
Bless the blades our warriors draw,
God be with Clan Ranelagh!
But my soul is weak for fear,
Thinking of their danger here.
Have them in Thy holy keeping,
God be with them lying sleeping,
God be with them standing fighting,
Erin’s foes in battle smiting!
Sir Samuel Ferguson.
CLXXVI
THE HILLS OF IRELAND
(From the Irish)
A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer,
Uileacán dubh O!
Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear,
Uileacán dubh O!
There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand,
And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fann’d,
There is dew at high noontide there, and springs i’ the yellow sand
On the fair hills of holy Ireland.