FIACHA AND THE LOUTH MEN

The two sons of Donal were kings of Tirconnel and Louth.
And Fiacha was king of the Louth men, an old race
That never bent the knee;
And because they had loved fine clothes, he dressed them in rags,
And because they had loved the battle, he stripped them of arms,
And they served him as men unfree.

He came to them after a year at the mouth of the Boyne,
And said ‘Ye must learn to serve me better than this.’
They cried ‘Oh God, what more have we left to do?
You have stripped us of home and children, rank and wealth;
We are skeleton-bare and die in the ditch like dogs;
What have we left for you?’
And he said ‘Come spit in my hand.’
And one by one they passed and spat in his hand
(Poor, unarmed, ragged, dispirited men,
Forgetting what men should be),
And half of the spit was blood, and he knocked them then,
‘A slave spits nothing but blood; ye spit like men;
Level the hills until they are good smooth soil;
Plant trees on the moors til all the moors are wood;
Then come again to me!’

A deer started up, and his hounds and his guards gave chase,
And Fiacha the king, and the broken men of Louth
At last stood face to face;
And from hungry lips came a cry like the hound's note,
And half of them fought for his knife and half for his throat
(Unarmed, landless, homeless, dispirited men,
Learning again to be free).

Source: The Irish Times, 1945-05-08