I got it out of a book called Ireland Sings by Dominic Behan.

SLIAB NA MBAN

My heart is broken in sorrow, a token of regret for jeers now spoken by the English lords.
They knew we could do no harm for they knew we possessed no arms,
But forks and pikes and but a handful of rusted swords
We had no major no hero leader,
No man to order us, we drifted on
Like cows to a drover e'er the fair is over
We scattered on the sunny shoulders of Sliab Na Mban

But the French are waiting their masts are straining and people they are saying they sail the sea
With their ships in serried lines and their order is grand and fine
And they race against the wind to set old Ireland free
Now if I knew this tale was true, I'd sing like the blackbird for you a happy song
To see broken ranks swinging and hear French trumpets ringing
As Freedom they come bringing to Sliab Na Mban

"Sliab na mban" he says, means "the white mountains." He attributes the translation to Wolfe Stephens.

With the very long lines, it is difficult to figure how it was supposed to be broken up. I hope this helps.

Slainte
Rick