The Rath of Mullaghmast, A Saxon Betrayal

The Rath of Mullaghmast stands as one of the darkest and most haunting places in Irish history, remembered for a massacre that symbolised the total betrayal of Ireland’s ancient clans. In the late sixteenth century, as English rule tightened its grip across Leinster, the Gaelic chieftains were invited to a grand assembly at Mullaghmast in County Kildare. The summons came under the seal of friendship, a promise of peace and protection from the Lord Deputy of Ireland, who claimed that reconciliation would end the turmoil between the Irish lords and the English Crown. Trusting in his word, the chiefs of Leinster came unarmed, accompanied by their families and followers, dressed in the rich garments of their rank and carrying the pride of generations that had ruled long before foreign power came to their shores. What awaited them was treachery. Hidden among the English soldiers and servants who welcomed them with smiles were the very men chosen to destroy them. At a prearranged signal, the gathering turned to slaughter. The Irish lords were cut down where they stood, their bodies piling at the doors of the tent, their blood soaking the earth that had borne their ancestors. It is said that not one chieftain escaped the sword, and the power of Leinster’s noble houses—the O’Moores, O’Connors, O’Kellys, and O’Dempseys—was broken in a single day. From that horror came a song of remembrance, The Rath of Mullaghmast, passed from voice to voice through the centuries as both lament and warning. It speaks of friendship betrayed and honour lost, yet within its grief lies the pulse of defiance that has always marked Ireland’s story. When sung, it calls to mind the silent hill where the bones of heroes lie beneath the grass, their names whispered by the wind that moves across Kildare’s plains. The song endures because the memory endures, reminding every listener that peace bought with deceit is no peace at all, and that Ireland never forgets the day trust was murdered at Mullaghmast. Hear more traditional Irish ballads on youtube.




LYRICS

 On the solemn midnight blast,
 What bleeding spectres pass’d,
 With their gash’d breasts bare?
 Hast thou heard the fitful wail
 That o’erloads the sullen gale,
 When the waning moon shines pale
 O’er the curs’d ground there?
 Hark! hollow moans arise
 Thro’ the black tempestuous skies,
 And curses, strife, and cries
 From the lone Rath swell;
 For bloody Sydney there
 Nightly fills the lurid air
 With th’ unholy pomp and glare
 Of the foul, deep hell.
 He scorches up the gale,
 With his knights in fiery mail,
 And the banners of the Pale
 O’er the red ranks rest;
 But a wan and gory band,
 All apart and silent, stand,
 And they point th’ accusing hand
 At that hell-hound’s crest.
 Red streamlets, trickling slow,
 O’er their clotted cooluns flow,
 And still and awful woe
 On their pale brows weeps;
 Mech bowls bestrew the ground,
 And broken harps around,
 Whose once enchanting sound
 In the bard’s blood sleeps.
 False Sydney! knighthood’s stain!
 The trusting brave in vain —
 Thy guests — ride o’er the plain
 To thy dark, cow’rd snare;
 Flow’r of Offaly and Leix,
 They have come thy board to grace —
 Fools! to meet a faithless race,
 Save with true swords bare.
 While cup and song abound,
 The triple lines surround
 The clos’d and guarded mound,
 In the night’s dark noon.
 Alas! too brave O’More,
 Ere the revelry was o’er,
 They have spill’d thy young heart’s gore,
 Snatch’d from love too soon!
 At the feast, unarm’d all —
 Priest, bard, and chieftain fall,
 In the treacherous Saxon’s hall,
 O’er the bright wine bowl;
 And now nightly round the board,
 With unsheath’d and reeking sword,
 Strides the cruel, felon lord
 Of the blood-stain’d soul.
 Since that hour, the clouds that pass’d
 O’er the Rath of Mullaghmast,
 One tear have never cast
 On the gore-dyed sod;
 For the shower of crimson rain
 That o’erflow’d that fatal plain,
 Cries aloud — and not in vain —
 To the Most High God.
 Tho’ the Saxon snake unfold
 At thy feet his scales of gold,
 And vow thee love untold —
 Trust him not, Green Land!
 Touch not with gloveless clasp
 A coil’d and deadly asp,
 But with strong and guarded grasp,
 In your steel-clad hand!




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