The return from Fingal

Moan, ye winds, ye caverns call

" Orro, orro! " to our sorrow,

While we bear 'neath one black pall

Brian, Murrough, from Fingal.

Still though wasted, wounded, weary,

On, Dalcassians! to your eyrie,

Eagles, crying from your crag,

" We have rent the Raven's flag."

How O'Brien's banshee cried,

Wailing, warning, ere that morning,

When the Lochlan in his pride

Whitened all the ocean side.

Sea kings stern from Norway's highlands,

Pirate chiefs from Orkney's islands.

Lords of Leinster, Britain, Wales,

By the shore a thousand sails

"On this day," great Brian cried

To the foeman, "Jew and Roman

Christ, our Saviour, crucified.

Hold we truce till Easter-tide! "

Loud rang back their impious laughter,

"Fight comes first, thanksgiving after!'

"Perish then, with shameful loss,

Howling fiends before the Cross!"

Plait and Donnell brand to brand

First in raging wrath engaging,

Heart pierced by each other's hand,

Fell together on the strand.

Then before the sword of Murrough

Fled the Dane; till to our sorrow

Anrud, Norway's champion dread,

Murrough met and both lay dead.

But our rallying cry awoke,

"Kian, Kian, Desmond's lion!"

And, at Kian's dreadful stroke,

Reeled the Lochlan ranks and broke.

"Now with strains of martial glory

To the King to tell our story,"

But we found great Brian low;

Och, ochone! och ullalo!

Moan, ye winds, ye caverns call

"Orro, orro!" to our sorrow,

While we bear 'neath one black pall

Brian, Murrough, from Fingal.

Still though wasted, wounded, weary,

On, Dalcassians! to your eyrie,

Eagles, crying from your crag,

"We have rent the Raven's flag!"