The hoarse hounds howl on Thomond’s hills to break the lonely night, there’s something in their eager notes that tells of strife and fight, and soon the hillsides seem to stir though silent is the weather, an army gathers in the gloom and marches through the heather. The word’s gone out, they’ve heard the call, those brave Dalcassian men, they’re marching to Kincora’s Hall, from wood, and hill, and glen, and some up from the boglands come and more cross Shannon’s fords, bright are the eyes and firm the hands that hold the scians and swords. And in Kincora the army swells, then drawn in serried line, they thrust their swords to the sky above and pledge themselves to Brian. This kingly man steps quickly forth, and cries, “Dalcassians, kneel, pray God may give us courage and strength to wield our steel”. “Our cause is just, and win we must,” this warrior bold declared, “and though the foe will be struck low, be you for death prepared, the Viking shows no mercy, priests and woman kind sent to slaughter, so rise you up, with battle cry, ‘Lamh laidir an uachtar!’”. The cry rang out among the hills and back again it flew, from Lough Derg’s side to Fergus’ tide went “Lamh Laidir Abu”, though some ne’er saw the morning’s light nor knew the battle’s story, each man that night had done his part - redeemed old Erin’s glory
September, 1941