Remember the glories of Brien the brave,
Tho' the days of the hero are o'er;
Tho' lost to Mononia and cold in the grave,[2]
He returns to Kinkora no more.[3]
That star of the field, which so often hath poured
Its beam on the battle, is set;
But enough of its glory remains on each sword,
To light us to victory yet.
Mononia! when Nature embellished the tint
Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair,
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print
The footstep of slavery there?
No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign,
Go, tell our invaders, the Danes,
That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine,
Than to sleep but a moment in chains.
Forget not our wounded companions, who stood[4]
In the day of distress by our side;
While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,
They stirred not, but conquered and died.
That sun which now blesses our arms with his light,
Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain;--
Oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night,
To find that they fell there in vain.
[1] Brien Boromhe, the great monarch of Ireland, who was killed at the
battle of Clontarf, in the beginning of the 11th century, after having
defeated the Danes in twenty-five engagements.
[2] Munster.
[3] The palace of Brien.
[4] This alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the Dalgais,
the favorite troops of Brien, when they were interrupted in their return
from the battle of Clontarf, by Fitzpatrick, prince of Ossory. The wounded
men entreated that they might be allowed to fight with the rest,--"_Let
stakes_[they said] _be stuck in the ground, and suffer each of us to be
tied to and supported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank by
the side of a sound man_." "Between seven and eight hundred men (adds
O'Halloran) pale, emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed
with the foremost of the troops;--never was such another sight
exhibited."--_"History of Ireland_," book xii. chap i.