And by melodious Banna’s tide,
And by the Mourne and Erne, to come
And swell thy strains!
O, horses’ hoofs would trample down
The Mount whereon the martyr-saint[1]
Was crucified.
From glen and hill, from plain and town,
One loud lament, one thrilling plaint,
Would echo wide.
There would not soon be found, I ween,