The wine-cup is circling in Almhin's hall, <br />And its Chief, 'mid his heroes reclining, <br />Looks up, with a sigh to the trophied wall, <br />Where his sword hangs idly shining. <br />When, hark, that shout <br />From the vale without -- <br />"Arm ye quick, the Dane, the Dane is nigh!" <br />Every Chief starts up <br />From his foaming cup, <br />And "To battle, to battle!" is the Finian's cry. <br /> <br />The minstrels have seized their harps of gold, <br />And they sing such thrilling numbers -- <br />'Tis like the voice of the Brave, of old, <br />Breaking forth from their place of slumber! <br />Spear to buckler rang, <br />As the minstrels sang, <br />And the Sun-burst o'er them floated wide; <br />While remembering the yoke <br />Which their fathers broke, <br />"On for liberty, for liberty!" the Finians cried. <br /> <br />Like clouds of the night the Northmen came, <br />O'er the valley of Almhin lowering; <br />While onward moved, in the light of its fame, <br />That banner of Erin, towering. <br />With the mingling shock <br />Rung cliff and rock, <br />While, rank on rank, the invaders die: <br />And the shout, that last <br />O'er the dying pass'd, <br />Was "victory! victory!" -- the Finian's cry.<br /><br />Thomas Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wine-cup-is-circling/
