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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 399 |
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It swung with the shrilling of pipers, It smote with a thud of drums,
It leapt and it whirled in battle, Crying, "Gull MacMorna comes."
It leapt and it smote, and the devils
Shrieked under every blow; With the very wind of its whistling
Warriors were stricken low.
It swept a path through the army
Wide as a winter flood, And down that lane the Fianna
Charged in a wash of blood.
Patrick gazed upon Ossian : But Ossian watched to descry
The surf and the tide of battle Turn as in days gone by.
And lo ! at the sudden onslaught
The fighters of Eirie made, And under the flail of MacMorna,
The host of the foemen swayed,
Broke; and Ossian, breathless,
Heard the exultant yell Of his comrades hurling the devils
Back to the wall of hell.
And the sword-blades reaped like sickles, And the javelins hissed like hail,
And louder and ever louder Rose the song of the flail, |
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