Page:The Spirit of the Nation.djvu/59

Rh Who saw'st our latter days' decree—

Our matrons' tear—our patriots' gore;

We swear before high Heaven and thee,

The Saxon holds us slaves no more!

Our sun-burst on the Roman foe

Flash'd vengeance once in foreign field—

On Clontarf's plain lay scathed low

What power the Sea-kings fierce could wield!

Benburb might say whose cloven shield

'Neath bloody hoofs was trampled o'er;

And, by these memories high, we yield

Our limbs to Saxon chains no more!

The clarseach wild, whose trembling string

Had long the "song of sorrow" spoke,

Shall bid the wild Rosg-Catha sing

The curse and crime of Saxon yoke.

And, by each heart his bondage broke—

Each exile's sigh on distant shore—

Each martyr 'neath the headsman's stroke—

The Saxon holds us slaves no more!

Send the loud war-cry o'er the main—

Your sun-burst to the breezes spread!

That slogan rends the heaven in twain—

The earth reels back beneath your tread!

Ye Saxon despot, hear, and dread—

Thy march o'er patriot hearts is o'er—

That shout hath told—that tramp hath said,

Our country's sons are slaves no more!