Follow Me Up to Carlow
Irish traditional
Lift, McCahir Og, your face
from brooding o'er the old disgrace,
that black FitzWilliam stormed your place
and drove you to the fern.
Gray said victory was sure:
soon the firebrand he'd secure,
until he met at Glen Malure
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!
Follow me now, for by the Lord,
Fiach mac Hugh has given the word:
follow me up to Carlow!
See the swords of Glen Imael
flashing o'er the English pale --
see all the children of the Gael
beneath O'Byrne's banner.
Rooster of a fighting stock
would you let a Saxon cock
crow out upon an Irish rock?
Fly up and teach him manners!
Now from Saggart to Clonmore
flows a stream of Saxon gore.
Great is Rory Og O'Mhor
at sending loons to hades!
White is sick and Gray is fled;
now for black FitzWilliam's head --
we'll send it over, dripping red,
to Lizzie and her ladies!