Oracles

I50 ST PATRICK’S DAY They slew our women : let us then At least annihilate their men ! Lest the ill race from faithless graves Arise again to make us slaves. Arise, O God, and stand, and smite For Ireland’s wrong, for Ireland’s right ! Our Lady, stay the pitying tear ! There is no room for pity here ! What pity knew the Saxon e’er ? Arise, O God, and slay nor spare, Until full vengeance rightly wrought Bring all their house of wrong to nought ! Scorn, the catastrophe of crime, These be their monuments through time ! And Ireland, green once more and fresh, Draw life from their dissolving flesh ! By Saxon carcases renewed, Spring up, O shamrock virgin-hued ! And in the glory of thy leaf Let all forget the ancient grief ! Now is the hour ! The drink is poured ! Wake ! fatal and avenging sword ! Brave men of Erin, hand in hand, Arise and free the lovely land ! Death to the Saxon ! Slay nor spare ! O God of Justice, hear us swear !