The harbor lights of Killybegs
Look out to an open sea,
Where powder and wine in Spanish kegs
Came over in 'ninety-three.

Red Hugh he was the chieftain bold,
And high his word in Spain,
Where never a don his beads that told
But cursed the English main.

Grandee and Irish chief were one
To hate the apostate foe,
And all they did was justly done
To answer woe with woe.

For every Irish lass's eyes
Downcast for English shame,
Beneath the accusing Irish skies
Goes down an English name.

For every bairn sadly born,
For old men wanton killed,
An English heart is fitly torn
And the wild blood fairly spilled.

A cross, I know, no sword was raised
There by the man of God,
But Patrick's dead eyes must have blazed
Under the outraged sod.

I am a man of peaceful palm,
The leaves of a book I turn:
Think you these old tales leave me calm?
I blush, I weep, I burn.

My mother was born in Killybegs,
Long after 'ninety-three;
And I bless the bursting Spanish kegs,
The harbor and the sea.
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