And each chalice and cruet they had snatch'd
from God's shrine.
But a red debt we paid them, the Sassenach
raiders,
As we scatter'd their spearmen, slew chieftains
and leaders.
In the Pale there is weeping and watchings in
vain.
De Lacy and D'Alton, can ye reckon your slain?
Where's your chieftain, fierce Nangle? Has