Remember the glories of Brien the brave

Remember the glories of Brien the brave,

Tho' the days of the hero are o'er;

Tho' lost to Moronia† and cold in the grave,

He returns to Kinkora‡ no more!

That star of the field, which so often has pour'd

Its beam on the battle is set;

But enough of its glory remains on each sword,

To light us to victory yet!

Moronia! when nature embellished the tint

Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair,

Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print

The footstep of slavery there?

No, Freedom! whose smile we shall never resign,

Go, tell our invaders, the Danes,

That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine,

Than to sleep but a moment in chains!

Forget not our wounded companions, who stood*

In the day of distress by our side;

While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,

They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died!

The sun, that now blesses our arms with his light,

Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain!--

Oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night,

To find that they fell there in vain!