a collection of literature from poets, bards, songwriters, and skalds in the SCA

The Rebel Clan

Whenst the soft morn woke and rose sky bound,
And the mist crept or the grassy hills.
The ewes in the meadows their bleats did sound.
We left standing call to memory still,
The day God answered the prayers o the common man,
We in life and death know as the Rebel clan.
For time may chance strike from its ledgers our names,
But the bards will recall the battle of Dysert O' Dea's fame.

For providence brought us ta our fated hour,
And fate brought us not but known disdain.
In Lough Raska our story begins wit a battle o power,
For those o an English taint caught ner but broken bloody pain.
de Clare's ears did burn in measure or his allies lose.
The strong heart o Eire's men he thought ta quill at the pause.
But he had'na foreseen the reckless valor o this brave clans soul.
So wit troop and blade he marched blindly ta his destiny foretold.

Down, down or the hills they came,
Ta where grassy sod met crystal ford.
Wit force the children o Eire they thought ta tame,
For twice or were they with men and sword.
As first steps drew they o the waters brim,
Their hearts sank heavy and their souls grew dim.
For we few stood with fierce heart,
And would'na easily from this world be part.

Wit planning and duty ta three ranks they broke,
But our kin O'Connor was readied ta defend.
Our foes surrounded,outnumbered and a few lives they took,
However O'Connor foresaw an a messenger did send,
Ta call ta arms our clansmen and kin,
O'Brien, O'Hehir, and MacNamara ta win,
This bloody forsaken ner measured fight,
By the grace o our brothers and the good lords might.

As the battle raged and the sun grew high,
A fierce fight we faced.
And I prayed the message had'na gone arye,
For a bitter Irish defeat I have'na want ta taste.
On the field lye dead o either side,
Who fought in valor, honor and in pride.
Still a crimson river flowed ta a crystal stream,
An 'twas ner else ta do but fight it seemed.

The days shadows grew long,
And the grass stained red.
Wistlin wind marked the swords song,
And our feet tripped or the fallen dead.
Then or the hills came a massive horde,
Brandishing ax and arrow, shield and sword.
We thought them foe till their cry did sound,
And wit swiftest haste the English were cut down.

For our clansmen had seen our message sent,
An ta our bidding mercifully arrived.
Quickly the tides turned as their fresh swords they lent,
And twas for their grace and the Lords we survived.
O 'twas a glorious day for the men o Eire
When the English from our lands did turn.
Wit the Lord ta our right and left our Kin and Clan,
For this fight twas won by us all ner accolades ta a single man.

Richard de Clare and his son lay among the fallen dead,
An admiral foe ta face.
His wife and household ta England had fled,
Wit a quick and heart pounding pace.
An we left in settin sun or the battlefield,
Ta mourn the broken dead by bloody sword and shield.
Kaza ta our foes for the brave fight they fought,
But in our victory a lesson was taught.

So heed this tale all ye who think ya battle lost.
What we few men left still hold ta heart.
That wit the Lords blessing, clan and kin at ya post,
A sure defeat may chance be thrown from the cart.
So tithe ya heart ta the lord and family,
And miracles of providence yours shall be.
For we recall they day god answered the prayers o the common man,
Those in life and death known as the Rebel Clan.