The Irregular’s Execution Of Antiquity Poem by Cúcídh Mac Cuagh

Behind the thick walls of a protective Court,
Defenders of an ideology, a passionate belief,
Entangled with garrisons and guns ‘gainst the
Compromisers weak; with whom they stood,
Unified together, fighting in the Squad,
Against the Sasanach with a hurley-gun; a
Few organised men can take on an Empire
And win: the Delegation wallowed in the mire.

The bitter contempt the brave Irregulars show
For their sometimes brothers, now enemies, is
Justified by an absolute cause; gallantly they
Fight ‘gainst the British vassals, traitors to the
Still elusive love. With the king’s breath they do
Bombard the dreams and hold plans for enmities with the
Cowardly reprisals planned for O’Connor’s men.

“Pile them high! Block the windows! ” was the call
Antrim’s people now lost, confined to ashes,
Seven hundred years feeds the republican fire.
After being warned by brothers they still went ahead,
Antiquity of this land means nothing under their rule;
Drunk on glory was enough to see them through,
Their deeds banished thousands to hell’s flames
Melancholy, mystery and hatred remains.