Terry Moylan, ed. "The Age of Revolution in the Irish Song Tradition 1776 - 1815", Dublin: Lilliput Press, 2000 has the song that begins: "Ní airím véarsa ó lon ná ó chéirseach"
2nd verse begins "Is oth liom féinig bualadh an lae úd" (see my posting above, 27-Aug-99). Moylan got his text from Nioclás Tóíbin, "Duanaire Deiseach" (1978) and says this song is often attributed to Micheál Óg Ó Longáin.

Moylan also gives a poem by Dr Campion called Slievenamon, which is not the same as any of the songs so far discussed, but is about the same battle of 1798. It begins "Two thousand men for Ireland, upon the mountain top!".

And he gives George Sigerson's poetic translation of the song attributed to Ó Longáin. Of this "Sliabh na mBan", Moylan writes, "It is not a literal translation, but it is very close and it also retains the metre and fhyming scheme of the original. It is taken from Denis Devereaux's Songs & Ballads of 98, where the air is stated to be 'Not more welcome than the fairy numbers', a song from Moore's Melodies"

SLIABH na mBAN

Weep the great Departed - the Patriot-hearted!
With life they parted for Ireland's right,
To them give glory, while tyrants gory
Spread the false story, 'They fled in fright".
Oh, 'twas small our terror! we fell to Error -
No chiefs there were, or an ordered van;
Yet when came war's rattle, we fled not battle,
Though like herdless cattle on Sliabh na mBan!

May the grief each ray shuns curse their impatience,
Who did haste our Nation's uprise from night,
Ere the Sooth could gather its clanns together,
And on this heather with the West unite!
Our camp had warriors! - Ay, Freedom's barriers!
The God-sent carriers of Slavery's van!
Oh! No spy had found them - no fetter bound them-
We'd be freed men round them on Sliabh na mBan.

Though at Ross defeated, few, few retreated;
Death comes - they meet it with push of pike!
Then were dragged the dying, and poor babes crying,
The flames to lie in, from ditch and dyke;
Ye who wreaked this slaughter, for the crimes you wrought there
We swear like water your blood shall run;
Yet savage yeomen, of hell an omen,
We'll meet ye, foemen, on Sliabh na mBan!

Ah! many an old man, and star-bright bold man,
Who long did hold on to free their Isle,
Lie pale and markless, in deathly starkness
Bowed down in darkness of dungeon vile.
There, eve and morning, they bear all scorning.
Threats, lashes, mourning that their tyrants plan;
We'll pay soon your labours, O coward neighbours!
With our musty sabres on Sliabh na mBan!

For on the Ocean are ships in motion,
And glad devotion on France's shore;
And rumour's telling: "They'll now be sailing
To help the Gael in the Right once more".
Oh! If true's that story, by my hopes of glory,
Like the glad bird o'er me I'll lilt my rann!
Were the robber routed, the Saxon flouted
How we could shout it, old Sliabh na mBan.

Ho! The clowns are quaking, and councel taking,
Good times are making their firm approach,
When those who weakly still preach, "Bear meekly",
Will mourn all bleakly in dark reproach;
While gold and chattel, broad lands and cattle,
Pay them whose battle made freedom dawnl
And wayside dances our joy enhances,
With the gold fire-glances o'er Sliabh na mBan.


Some information on the translator from Kathleen Hoagland, ed. "1000 Years of Irish Poetry":

George Sigerson (1836-1925) was born near Strabane, Co Tyrone and died in Dublin. He had medical training in France and was later a Professor of Biology at University College, Dublin. Sigerson translated and wrote medical books, and was also a proficient Gaelic scholar and president of the National Literary Society from 1893 until his death.

He also translated Seán Ó Duibhir a Ghleanna, An Spailpín Fánach and composed The Mountains of Pomeroy (a patriotic re-working of an older Reynardine song)