Oh! black breaks the morrow in tempest and gloom, 
When we bear to our sorrow O'Neill to the tomb. 
Whilst with wailing and weeping the long, long train 
Comes woefully weeping o'er Uladh's dark plain.

'Twas not reaving their cattle, you fell, Owen Roe, 
Or in red, raging battle, your face to the foe. 
But the black snake of treason they sent, O'Neill, 
To pierce you with poison since you scoffed at their steel. 

Oh! leader God-gifted, oh! arm stern of stroke, 
That well-nigh had lifted from our shoulders the yoke, 
Your death-bell is ringing our doom, our doom, 
For with you we are bringing our hopes to the tomb !