Page:Irish Melodies.djvu/29

Rh ! 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*
 * In the day of distress by our side;

While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,
 * They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died!