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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=530045" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Wine-Cup is Circling</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wine-cup is circling in Almhin's hall,<br>And its Chief, 'mid his heroes reclining, <br>Looks up, with a sigh to the trophied wall, <br>Where his sword hangs idly shining. <br>When, hark, that shout <br>From the vale without -- <br>"Arm ye quick, the Dane, the Dane is nigh!" <br>Every Chief starts up <br>From his foaming cup, <br>And "To battle, to battle!" is the Finian's cry. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The minstrels have seized their harps of gold, <br>And they sing such thrilling numbers -- <br>'Tis like the voice of the Brave, of old, <br>Breaking forth from their place of slumber! <br>Spear to buckler rang, <br>As the minstrels sang, <br>And the Sun-burst o'er them floated wide; <br>While remembering the yoke <br>Which their fathers broke, <br>"On for liberty, for liberty!" the Finians cried. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like clouds of the night the Northmen came, <br>O'er the valley of Almhin lowering; <br>While onward moved, in the light of its fame, <br>That banner of Erin, towering. <br>With the mingling shock <br>Rung cliff and rock, <br>While, rank on rank, the invaders die: <br>And the shout, that last <br>O'er the dying pass'd, <br>Was "victory! victory!" -- the Finian's cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Moore">Thomas Moore</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=530045" data-title="The Wine-Cup is Circling de Thomas Moore" data-description="The wine-cup is circling in Almhin's hall, And its Chief, 'mid his heroes reclining, Looks up, with a sigh to the trophied wall, Where his sword hangs idly shining. When, hark, that shout From the vale without -- "Arm ye quick, the Dane,..."></div> </div> </div>
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