Sore misery to Erin, that you spread Your sails for far-off Espan, Hugh the Red! But sorest doom that on a foreign strand Quenched your keen eye and from your falt'ring hand Has struck down the faithful brand. Who now for us shall sweep the cattle spoil In bellowing tumult o'er the foamy Foyle? And till the steers are driven dispersed to sward, Hurl back, like thee, the Avenger from the ford, Hugh O'Donnell of the Sword? Who now upon the plunderers from the Pale Shall wreck the fiery vengeance of the Gael? With sudden onslaught strike the Saxon crew And smite them as you smote them through and through, Chieftain of Tyrconnell, who? Last who like thee, with comforts manifold Shall keep and cherish sick and poor and old? For ah! thy open ever-flowing store Of food and drink and clothing maet galore Fails them now for evermore.
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Charles Villiers Stanford, Sir (1852 - 1924), "Chieftain of Tyrconnell" [voice and orchestra] [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Ted Perry
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 149