The Marching Song Of Fiach Mac Hugh

Lift MacCahir Og your face brooding o'er the old disgrace

That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern

Grey said victory was sure soon the firebrand he'd secure;

Until he met at Glenmaiure with Fiach Mac Hugh O'Byrne.

Curse and swear Lord Kildare

Fiach will do what Fiach will dare

Now Fitzwilliam, have a care

Fallen is your star, low

Up with halberd out with sword

On we'll go for by the Lord

Fiach MacHugh has given the word,

Follow me up to Carlow.

See the swords of Glen Imayle, flashing o'er the English Pale

See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners

Rooster of a fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock

Crow out upon an Irish rock, fly up and teach him manners

From Saggart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore

O great is Rory Og O'More, sending the loons to Hades

White is sick and Lane is fled, now for black Fitzwilliam's head

We'll send it over dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.

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