Avenging and bright falls the swift sword of Erin
On him who the brave sons of Usna betrayed
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 Uladh's three champions lay sleeping in gore,
By the billows 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 halls 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
Tho' sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections,
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all!"