O Druimin donn dilish

"O Druimin donn dilish,[1]
True Flower of the Kine,
Say, where art thou hiding,
Sad Mother of mine?"
"I lurk in the wild wood,
No human ear hears
(Save my brave lads around me)
My fast-falling tears.
"Gone my broad lands and homesteads,
My music and wine,
No chieftains attend me
No hostings are mine.
Stale bread and cold water
The whole of my hoard,
While the warm wine flows freely
Round the enemy's board."
"Could we utter our minds
To those smart English rogues,
 We would beat them as soundly
As we beat our old brogues!
We would whip them through thorns
On a damp, foggy day,
O'er the cliffs, my Donn dilish,
We would chase them away!"
FOOTNOTES:
 A poetic name for Ireland; druimshionn donn dileas, lit. "the beloved white-backed dun cow."