Small glory to thy potent King
His chains and fires on our host to bring!
Oh! how unlike our generous chief,
Who, if thy King felt wrong or grief,
Would soon in arms, with valour strong,
Avenge the grief, redress the wrong.
Whom did the Fenian king e’er see
In thraldom, pain, or fear,
But his ready gold would set him free,
Or the might of his victor spear?
This arm, did frenzy touch my brain,
Their heads from thy clerks would sever,
Nor thy crozier here, nor white book remain,
Nor thy bells be heard for ever.