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Thomas Moore - The Wine-Cup is Circling
Work rating: Low

The wine-cup is circling in Almhin`s hall,
And its Chief, `mid his heroes reclining, 
Looks up, with a sigh to the trophied wall, 
   Where his sword hangs idly shining. 
      When, hark, that shout 
      From the vale without — 
   "Arm ye quick, the Dane, the Dane is nigh!" 
      Every Chief starts up 
      From his foaming cup, 
   And "To battle, to battle!" is the Finian`s cry. 

The minstrels have seized their harps of gold, 
And they sing such thrilling numbers — 
`Tis like the voice of the Brave, of old, 
   Breaking forth from their place of slumber! 
      Spear to buckler rang, 
      As the minstrels sang, 
   And the Sun-burst o`er them floated wide; 
      While remembering the yoke 
      Which their fathers broke, 
   "On for liberty, for liberty!" the Finians cried. 

Like clouds of the night the Northmen came, 
   O`er the valley of Almhin lowering; 
While onward moved, in the light of its fame, 
   That banner of Erin, towering. 
      With the mingling shock 
      Rung cliff and rock, 
   While, rank on rank, the invaders die: 
      And the shout, that last 
      O`er the dying pass`d, 
   Was "victory! victory!" — the Finian`s cry.
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