Page:The Spirit of the Nation.djvu/17

Rh  A.D. 1190

I.

Can the depths of the ocean afford you not graves,

That you come thus to perish afar o'er the waves;

To redden and swell the wild torrents that flow,

Through the valley of vengeance, the dark Aharlow?

II.

The clangour of conflict o'erburthens the breeze,

From the stormy Slieve Bloom to the stately Galtees;

Your caverns and torrents are purple with gore,

Slievenamon, Glencoloe, and sublime Galtymore!

III.

The sun-burst that slumbered embalmed in our tears,

Tipperary! shall wave o'er thy tall mountaineers!

And the dark hill shall bristle with sabre and spear,

While one tyrant remains to forge manacles here.