Come up, comrades, up, see the night draweth on,
And black shadows loom over fair Slieve-namon;
The darkness is creeping o’er mountain and vale,
And our footsteps are drowned in the roar of the gale.
Our proud foemen rest in yon valley below,
And their slumbering guards never dream of a foe:
Then up, comrades, up, ere the bright sun appears
We’ll have vengeance galore for the sufferings of years.
They have plundered our homes and foredoomed us to die
Of famine and want ’neath the cold winter sky;
Our roof-trees are blazing, our altars o’erthrown,
And ’tis treason to ask or to hope for our own;
Our kinsmen lie food for the ravens and crows—
They craved but for bread, and were answered with blows;
And because we won’t perish while feasting they be,
Oh, robbers, and traitors, and cut-throats are we!
We’re robbers to snatch back our own from their hand,
We’re traitors because we are true to our land,
And cut-throats, ha! ha! so the cowards can feel
That we, like themselves, carry points to our steel!
They have hunted us down now for many a day;
To-night they shall find us the hunters, not they;
For we’ll bend to their foul yoke no longer, we’ll swear,
Whilst we’ve arms that can strike, boys, or hearts that can dare.