And there hung the lute that could soften
My very worst pains into bliss;
While the hand, that had waked it so often,
Now throbbed to a proud rival's kiss.
There _was_ a time, falsest of women,
When Breffni's good sword would have sought
That man, thro' a million of foe-men,
Who dared but to wrong thee _in thought_!
While now--oh degenerate daughter
Of Erin, how fallen is thy fame!
And thro' ages of bondage and slaughter,
Our country shall bleed for thy shame.
Already, the curse is upon her,
And strangers her valleys profane;
They come to divide, to dishonor,
And tyrants they long will remain.
But onward!--the green banner rearing,
Go, flesh every sword to the hilt;
On _our_ side is Virtue and Erin,
On _theirs_ is the Saxon and Guilt.
[1] These stanzas are founded upon an event of most melancholy importance
to Ireland; if, as we are told by our Irish historians, it gave England
the first opportunity of profiting by our divisions and subduing us. The
following are the circumstances, as related by O'Halloran:--"The king of
Leinster had long conceived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, daughter
to the king of Meath, and though she had been for some time married to
O'Ruark, prince of Breffni, yet it could not restrain his passion.
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