Though the beauties of the summer|
Decked green Erins fertile breast,
There was woe and bitter wailing
In the valleys of the West.
For the presence of the tyrant
Cursed the mountain and the glen;
And the laggard Frenchman came not
With the weapons for our men.
2. But when autumn browned the cornfields|
And the leaves upon the trees,
You could hear the rising murmur
Swell to thunder in the breeze.
Eyes that long were dimmed in slavery
Flashed with Freedoms light again
For the French were in Killala
With the weapons for our men!
3. It has come, the day of vengeance|
That our souls have waited long;
Vengeance on the hated tyrant
For each dark and bitter wrong.
As the mountain fox is hunted
Back into his loathsome den,
So well scourge the brutal tyrant
With our weapons and our men.
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