Were once the birthright of the Gael;
The stranger came with iron hand,
And from our fathers reft[283] the land.
Where dwell we now? See, rudely swell
Crag over crag, and fell o’er fell.
Ask we this savage hill we tread,
For fatten’d steer or household bread;
Ask we for flocks these shingles dry,—
And well the mountain might reply,
‘To you, as to your sires of yore,