Avenging and Bright Fell The Swift Sword Of Erin

By Thomas Moore

Avenging and bright fell the swift sword of Erin,
On him who the sons of Usna betray'd;
For ev'ry fond eye he hath waken'd a tear in,
A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her blade.
By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling,
When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping in gore;
By the pillows of war which, so often, high swelling,
Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore! --

We swear to avenge them! -- no joy shall be tasted,
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed,
Our hall shall be mute, and our fields shall lie wasted,
Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head!
Yes, monarch! tho' sweet are our home recollections,
Tho' sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall!
Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections,
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all!