ATHUNREE! Athunree! | |
| Erin’s heart, it broke on thee! | |
| Ne’er till then in all its woe | |
| Did that heart its hope forego. | |
| Save a little child—but one— | 5 |
| The latest regal race is gone. | |
| Roderick died again on thee, | |
| Athunree! | |
| |
| Athunree! Athunree! | |
| A hundred years and forty-three | 10 |
| Winter-winged and black as night | |
| O’er the land had tracked their flight: | |
| In Clonmacnoise from earthy bed | |
| Roderick raised once more his head:— | |
| Fedlim flood-like rushed to thee, | 15 |
| Athunree! | |
| |
| Athunree! Athunree! | |
| The light that struggled sank on thee! | |
| Ne’er since Cathall the red-handed | |
| Such a host till then was banded. | 20 |
| Long-haired Kerne and Galloglass | |
| Met the Norman face to face; | |
| The saffron standard floated far | |
| O’er the on-rolling wave of war; | |
| Bards the onset sang o’er thee, | 25 |
| Athunree! | |
| |
| Athunree! Athunree! | |
| The poison tree took root in thee! | |
| What might naked breasts avail | |
| ’Gainst sharp spear and steel-ribbed mail? | 30 |
| Of our Princes twenty-nine, | |
| Bulwarks fair of Connor’s line, | |
| Of our clansmen thousands ten, | |
| Slept on thy red ridges. Then— | |
| Then the night came down on thee, | 35 |
| Athunree! | |
| |
| Athunree! Athunree! | |
| Strangely shone that moon on thee! | |
| Like the lamp of them that tread | |
| Staggering o’er the heaps of dead, | 40 |
| Seeking that they fear to see. | |
| O that widows’ wailing sore! | |
| On it rang to Oranmore; | |
| Died, they say, among the piles | |
| That make holy Aran’s isles;— | 45 |
| It was Erin wept on thee, | |
| Athunree! | |
| |
| Athunree! Athunree! | |
| The heart of Erin burst on thee! | |
| Since that hour some unseen hand | 50 |
| On her forehead stamps the brand: | |
| Her children ate that hour the fruit | |
| That slays manhood at the root; | |
| Our warriors are not what they were; | |
| Our maids no more are blithe and fair; | 55 |
| Truth and honor died with thee, | |
| Athunree! | |
| |
| Athunree! Athunree! | |
| Never harvest wave o’er thee! | |
| Never sweetly breathing kine | 60 |
| Pant o’er golden meads of thine! | |
| Barren be thou as the tomb; | |
| May the night-bird haunt thy gloom, | |
| And the wailer from the sea, | |
| Athunree! | 65 |
| |
| Athunree! Athunree! | |
| All my heart is sore for thee, | |
| It was Erin died on thee, | |
| Athunree! | |
| |
