| |
| A TERRIBLE and splendid trust, | |
| Heartens the host of Innisfail; | |
| Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust; | |
| The lightning glory of the Gael. | |
| |
| Croagh Patrick is the place of prayers, | 5 |
| And Tara the assembling place: | |
| But each sweet wind of Ireland bears | |
| The trump of battle on its race. | |
| |
| From Dursey Isle to Donegal, | |
| From Howth to Achill, the glad noise | 10 |
| Rings: and the airs of glory fall, | |
| Or victory crowns their fighting joys. | |
| |
| A dream! a dream! an ancient dream! | |
| Yet, ere peace come to Innisfail, | |
| Some weapons on some field must gleam, | 15 |
| Some burning glory fire the Gael. | |
| |
| That field may lie beneath the sun, | |
| Fair for the treading of an host: | |
| That field in realms of thought be won | |
| And armed minds do their uttermost. | 20 |
| |
| Some way, to faithful Innisfail, | |
| Shall come the majesty and awe | |
| Of martial truth, that must prevail, | |
| To lay on all the eternal law. | |
| |
