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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 273
They banned our faith, they banned our lives, they
trod us into earth, Until our very patience stirred their bitter hearts to
mirth. Even this great flame that wraps them now, not we
but they have bred : Yes, this is their own work; and now their work be
on their head !
Nay, Father, tell us not of help from Leinster's
Norman peers, If we shall shape our holy cause to match their selfish
fears — Helpless and hopeless be their cause who brook a
vain delay! Our ship is launched, our flag's afloat, whether they
come or stay.
Let silken Howth and savage Slane still kiss their
tyrant's rod, And pale Dunsany still prefer his master to his God; Little we'd miss their fathers' sons, the Marchmen of
the Pale, If Irish hearts and Irish hands had Spanish blade and
mail!
Then let them stay to bow and fawn, or fight with cunning words;
I fear no more their courtly arts than England's hireling swords;
Nathless, their creed, they hate us still, as the de-spoiler hates;
Could they love" us, and love their prey, our kinsmen's lost estates ? |
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