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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 255 |
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Half-naked, half-fed, with few muskets, no guns — The battle to dare against England's stout sons ?
Poor Botmochts,1 and wild Gallowglasses, and Kern — Let them war with rude brambles, sharp furze, and
dry fern; Wirrastrue'' for their wives—for their babies ochanie,3 If they wait for the Saxon at BEAL-AN-ATHA-
BUIDH.
Yet O'Neill standeth firm—few and brief his commands —
" Ye have hearts in your bosoms, and pikes in your hands;
Try how far ye can push them, my children, at once ;
Fag-a-Bealach ! *—and down with horse, foot, and great guns.
" They have gold and gay arms—they have biscuit and
bread; Now, sons of my soul, we'll be found and be fed ; " And he clutched his claymore, and—" look yonder."
laughed he, " What a grand commissariat for BEAL-AN-ATHA-
BUIDH."
Near the chief, a grim tyke, an O'Shanaghan stood, His nostrils dilated seemed snuffing for blood ; Rough and ready to spring, like the wiry wolf-hound Of Ierne, who, tossing his pike with a bound,
1 Bonnocht, a billeted soldier.
5 Wirrastrue {A Mhuire as truagh), Oh ! Mary, what sorrow 1
* Ochanie—ochone, woe.
* Fag-a-Bealach, clear the way. |
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