No rising column marks the spot
Where many a victim lies;
But Oh! the blood which here has streamed
To Heaven for justice cries.
It claims it on the oppressor's head
Who joys in human woe,
Who drinks the tears by misery shed
And mocks them as they flow

It claims it on the callous judge,
Whose hands in blood are dyed,
Who arms injustice with the sword,
The balance throws aside.
It claims it for his ruined isle,
Her wretched children's grave;
Where withered Freedom droops her head,
And man exists - a slave.

O Sacred Justice! Free this land
From tyranny abhorred;
Resume thy balance and thy seat
Resume but sheathe thy sword.

No retribution should we seek
Too long has horror reigned;
By mercy marked may freedom rise,
By cruelty unstained.

Nor shall a tyrant's ashes mix
With those our martyred dead;
This is the place where Erin's sons
In Erin's cause have bled.
And those who here are laid at rest,
Oh! Hallowed be each name;
Their memories are for ever blest
Consigned to endless fame.

Unconsecrated is this ground,
Unblest by holy hands;
No bell here tolls its solemn sound,
No monument here stands.
But here the patriots' tears are shed,
The poor man's blessing given;
These consecrate the virtuous dead,
These waft their fame to heaven.