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WiTH THE STORY TELLERS

And a bugle blew
The cavern through,
Then would each trooper a steed obtain,
And Gerald would ride
In all his pride,
To end the bloody Saxons’ reign.
Him, pray excuse
Till his horse’s shoes,
Which were in thickness a half inch clear;
Shall be worn round,
And the silver ground
To the thickness of a kitten’s ear.
Then the miller’s note
Will sweep the moat,
Far louder than the storm’s wild blast;
To rouse each clan
And each fighting man,
Against the fiends of Mullaghmast.

With hate inspired,
With fury fired,
Their country’s enemies they’ll seek;
Who’ll make a stand
In that neck of land,
Between Roscrea and Slieve Bloom’s peak.
There Hire’s sons
With pikes and guns,
Will accomplish their overthrow;
And crush for all time
The murderous swine,
And deal death to their treacherous foe
Till not a man
Of the Saxon Clan,
Has been left to strike a blow.

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