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I have taken this poem directly from my copy of book titled The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore – Page 277 under the chapter on Irish Melodies. It is an exact extract.

Thomas Moore, the 19th century poet, wrote a poem about Tighernan and Dervorgilla, and the incident of Dervorgilla running off with Dermott McMurrough, thus allegedly triggering the first Norman Invasion of Ireland.

It is a most stirring, rousing poem and is allegedly well known, particularly as it is supposedly taught to most school children in the Irish Republic.

* Information contributed by Frank O’Rourke -- frank_orourke@interact.net.au


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THE SONG OF O’RUARK
Prince of Breffni

The valley lay smiling before me,
Where lately I left her behind;
Yet I trembled, and something hung o'er me
That saddened the joy of my mind.

I looked for the lamp which, she told me,
Should shine when her pilgrim returned;
But though darkness began to enfold me,
No lamp from the battlements burned."

I flew to her chamber - 'twas lonely,
As if the loved tenant lay dead;-
Ah, would it were death, and death only!
But no, the young false one had fled.

And there hung the lute that could soften
My very worst pains into bliss,
While the hand that had waked it so often
Now throbbed to a proud rival's kiss.

There was a time, falsest of women!
When Breffni's good sword would have sought
That man, through a million of foe-men,
Who dared to wrong thee in thought!

While now - O degenerate daughter
Of Erin, how fallen is thy fame!
And through ages of bondage and slaughter,
Our country shall bleed for thy shame.

Already the curse is upon her,
And strangers her valleys profane;
They come to divide - to dishonour,
And tyrants they long will remain.

But onward! - the green banner rearing,
Go, flesh every sword to the hilt
On our side is Virtue and Erin,
On theirs is the Saxon and Guilt…."




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The following are two verses of a poem written in the early 18th century by Hugh MacGauran of County Leitrim, which embodies the tradition of the Christmas festivities held in the Great Hall of Dromahair Castle by Brian na Murtha (16th century). Dean Swift composed a translation of it, a part of which is given here:

O’ROURKE’S FEAST

O'Rourke's noble fare will ne'er be forgot
By those who were there or those who were not.
His revels to keep, we sup and we dine
On seven score sheep, fat bullocks and swine.

Usquebaugh to our feast in pails was brought up,
A hundred at least, and a madder our cup...
Come harper, strike up: but first, by your favour
Boy, give us a cup: Ah! this hath some savour!"

There are supposedly more that a dozen additional verses to this poem – I have never seen the full poem!

* Information contributed by Frank O’Rourke -- frank_orourke@interact.net.au


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The following poem was written for Brian na Murtha when he became Lord of Breifne in 1566. The poet was Sean MacTorna O Maelchonaire (O Mulconry) of the family of poets and chroniclers to the O Conor and MacDermots, the Sil-Murray. Following are a few verses from a translation by John D'Alton in the 19th century:



"O'er heaven favoured Breifne a chieftain commands
In whom all endowments of excellence join:
There is not a hero in Erin's green lands
Equals Brian who dwells on the science-loved Boyne.

Sincere are our praises of Breifne's great lord
Like the father of Oisin in story renown'd:
Since the hour when a stripling he first drew the sword
Where the foe dar'd to meet him he never gave ground.

But what were the sword, if the hapr should be mute
Or the deeds of the hero if silent the Bard:
Be mind the proud strains that his dignity suit,
And I'll offer to Brian a minstrel's reward.

Well is the rapture of eulogy due
To him in whom treachery never could lukr:
Whose promise is sacred, whose friendship is true,
The glory of Feargna, the gallant O Rourke.

O Breifne, dear land of the mountain and vale,
Where the heifers stray cheerily all the long year:
How fragrant thy moorlands in summer's fresh gale,
How green in its showers they meadows appear."

(In the first verse, "the science-loved Boyne" is a symbolic not a 
geographical allusion. Breifne was far from the Boyne.) The 
poem is from James Hardiman's "Irish Minstrelsy".