Page:Irish minstrelsy, vol 2 - Hardiman.djvu/77

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O thou that art sprung from the flow'r of the land, Whose virtues endear and whose talents command; When our foemen are banished, how then wilt thou feel. That the king of the right shall espouse Grana Weal,

O'er the high hills of Erin what bonfires shall blaze, What libations be pour'd forth!—what festival days!— While minstrels and monks with one heart-pulse of zeal, Sing and pray for the king and his own Grana Weal!

The monarch of millions is riding the sea. His revenge cannot sleep, and his guards will not flee;$1$ No cloud shall the pride of our nobles conceal, When the foes are dispersed that benight Grana Weal. VOL. II.