APHSource: Tuam Herald 20 August 1859
The war-cry load is echoing- loud the trumpets sound to-day
And Connaught’s pride in martial guise a glorious sight display:
Full many a heart is burning wild. full many a sword on high
To smite the foeman of their race, has flashed triumphantly
And as like winter’s torrent tide along Roscommon’s plain
The furious thousands onward pour, to meet the foe again.
Oh! who could deem that Sarok arms, or Saxon men could stand
Before the fiery Celtic clans-the flower of all the land
Soon Athenry’s embattled keep burst fall upon their sight
And as he gazed upon the pile, O’Connor’s eye grew bright,
Then ancient memories crowding fast upon the hero’s heart
He vowed to right his country’s wrongs, to act a warrior’s part
That summer night with many a hope, and many fervent prayer
For Erin’s cause, and those they loved, the clansmen lingered there
While far beyond-De-Burgo’s lines-a glittering array-
Encamped, to wait the morning’s light for glory and the fray.
That morning dawned in glowing hues, while on the clear blue sky
No fleecy cloud was there to dim its azure brilliancy
The sun uprise in golden sheen-but more impressive far
The aspect of the marshalled hosts, the pageantry of war.
So thought the Warder, as from off the ivy- mantled keep
He gazed upon the serried lines-soon, 8000 in death to sleep-
And saw the burnished battle-brands of Erin’s chivalry,
The Anglo- Norman’s blazoned flags, pennons flaunting free
Each host for combat now prepares -the leaders of the Pale
De Burgo and De-Bermingham are clad in shining mail
And rushing through the lines of war, exhort to deeds of fame,
To strike the foe with valiant arm-to win a deathless name-
Few were the words O’Connor spoke ‘. for Faith and Fatherland,
For freedom-wife-child-homestead now be raised the patriots’ brand
Remember all we have endured-remember all our woe
The Saxons’ hate-our Island’s wrongs-wreak vengeance on the foe.
And as he said, & ‘ Farrah'” wild upon the air uptore
As when the storm-lashed ocean’s foam is dashed against the shore,
And on they rushed with frenzied hearts to meet the foeman, now
To wipe in Saxon gore the stains deep burning on their brow.
Like the low moaning of the woods before the tempest blows
The dull dead sound of rushing feet upon the breeze arose-
And soon the skian, the glaive, the shield in the bright sun beams flash
The ponderous axe-the naked sword with fearful thunders clash.
O’er foremost in the ranks of fight O’Connor’s reeking brand
Bore death into the Norman lines, spread terror through their band.
And ever as the tide of war rolled back in disarray
De Burgo’s voice and valiant arm restored the sinking fray
The sun affrighted by the clang of armour, sword and glaive
Swift onwards sped his western course, and sank beneath the wave
While in the transient pauses of the conflict, rose on high,
The dying’s groan, the wounded’s shriek, the victor’s thrilling cry.
At length ’tis o’er some Norman bow has aimed a deadly dart
The barbed shaft lies quivering in dauntless Fiedlam’s heart
Their love, thelr pride, their mighty chief thus on the sward laid low
Soon Erin’s chivalry gave way before the Saxon foe.
That night was one ravelling within the castle walls
And minstrels waked their golden tyros in the baronial halls
Full many a chieftans’ pralse is sung – full many a hero brave
Who bled on that eventful day, and found a soldiers’ grave,
. .. Farrah: the war-cry of the old Irish clans.
