Follow Me Up to Carlow

Lift Mac Cahir Óg your face,
From brooding o'er the old disgrace,
That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place
And drove you to the Fern.
Grey said victory was sure,
Soon the firebrand he'd secure,
Until he met at Glenmalure
With Feach Mac Hugh O'Byrne.

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 the fighting stock,
Would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock?
Fly up and teach him manners!

Curse and swear, Lord Kildare,
Feach will do what Feach will dare,
Now Fitzwilliam, have a care,
For fallen is your star low.
Up with halberd, out with sword,
On we go for, by the Lord,
Feach Mac Hugh has given his word,
Follow me up to Carlow.

From Tassagart to Clonmore,
Flows a stream of Saxon gore,
Och! great is Rory Óg O'More,
At sending 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 her ladies.

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Last modified Monday 18th September 2006

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