Page:Irish minstrelsy, vol 2 - Hardiman.djvu/71

 Rh "And will not our hearts pulse triumphantly dance,
 * When the Major, the gallant, the graceful, the brave,$6$

With his chivalrous comrades shall fearless advance
 * A tyrant to crush—and a country to save!—

Where art thou our Charles! ah, linger no more,
 * One flash of thy sword—and our foes shall retire;

A clang of thy trumpet once heard on our shore,— And we'll start to thy wedding with Sheela na Guire.

"The spring flowers are budding—the blossoms look gay
 * But the winter of tyranny never departs;

The birds warble sweet from each feathery spray,
 * But 'tis night—starless night, o'er our hopes and our
 * hearts.

All nature's awake!—and will not the fame
 * Of heroes, your fathers—O'Brien your sire,

Arouse you to glory—to vengeance—or shame?
 * Shall the base churls still mock your own Sheela na
 * Guire?