From The United Irishman, April 10, 1897.

In anticipation of the coming celebration of the centenary of the year 1798 in Ireland next year, the Irishmen of Ireland, England and Scotland are projecting the starting of a new Irish national organization, to be called by the name of “Fuath-na-Gall.” The English meaning of that Irish name is “Hatred of the Stranger,” or ‘hatred of the foreigner,’ which virtually amounts to hatred of the English government in Ireland. Under that name, they hope to unite all Irishmen of every religion and of every political party, in “one struggle more” for the freedom of the old land.

The name reminds us of that “Song of Hatred” which James C. Mangan translated from the German into the English language. When we were in Cork Jail in the year 1859, we occupied a little of our time, translating it from the English into the Irish language; but to express our feelings more intensely, or to help us to rhyme the lines more smoothly, we added an adjective to the word “hatred”, and we made it ‘geur-fuath’, a bitter hatred or sharp hatred. As many readers of the UNITED IRISHMAN are learning Irish now, we print the poem in English and Irish, that they may practice at it, and thus fully qualify themselves to become members of the Fuath na Gall Society:

The Song of the Hatred.


Yes, Freedom’s war tho’ the deadly strife
Should make the earth one charnel bone-yard,
The last fond kiss to the child and wife,
And the first firm grasp of the pogniard.
Blood soon shall flow in rivers, above
The bright flowers we today tread,
We have all had far too much to love,
Let us now try the spell of Hatred.

How long shall that hideous ogre power
Rear column of skulls on column!
On Justice! Hasten thy judgment hour
And open thy doomsday volume.
No more oiled speech; it is time the drove
Of despots should hear their fate read.
We have all had far too much of love
Let us now try the spell of Hatred.

Cold steel! To that it must come at length,
Nor quake ye to hear it spoken;
By the blows alone that men strike in their strength
Can the chains of the world be broken.
Up, then; no more in city or grove
Let slavery or dismay tread;
We have all had far too much of love,
Let us now test the talisman – Hatred.

My friends! the tremendous hour at hand
Will show itself truly in earnest;
Be bold, be brave, and take your stand
Where its aspect forms the sternest
Strive now as Tell and Korner strove,
Be your sharp swords early and late red,
We have all had more than enough of love,
Test now the talisman Hatred.


Seadh, cogadh ‘n tsaoirseacht, gidh be an gleo
Deanfach relig go leir do’n tir-seo,
Tabhair pog an bhais do d’ mhaoi a’s dod’ bhab,
Agus faisg ad lamh do chloidheamhsa;
Os cionn na mblath faoi ar gcosamh aniubh
Rithfig fuil, gan moill, go fior-luath,
Le fada ata aguin iliomad gradh,
Anois trialamaois geasa do gheur-fuath.

Cho fada bheig reim na nandeaman air saoghal
A gcruachadh ar gcoirp, gan cuntas
A Righ na gcirt! brostaig uair do bhraith
Agus osguil do leabhar-bhreitheantas.
Caith’ig uaibh caint sleamhuin, na gcreachadoir;
Is mithid a ndaan a leigheadh dhoibh
Le fada ata aguin iliomad gradh,
Anois, trialamaois geasa do gheur-fuath.

Iaran geur-fao’rach fuar, a’s na crioth dtaobh e chlos
Chuige sinn, tiocfaig chomhrac na ndaoine
Le na beimionna buailimid fein in ar neart
Brisfior ceangal agus slabharaidhe na gcruinne;
Eiri’ig le fonn, go neamh-eag’lach teann,
Ruagaig doirseacht as cathair agus coill-nuadh;
Le fada ata aguin iliomad gradh,
Anois trialamaois geasa don geur-fuath.

A charaid! an uair uath-bhasach chughain,
Taisbeanadh se e fein go ro dhian
Bigidh meisneamhail, dana, lorg an ait
Ann is laidire namhaid a’s is mo baoghal,
Obairig’ anois mar na laochraidhe do bhidh,
Bidheach bhur gclaoidhimh fuil-dhearg agus sior-buadhach,
Le fada ata aguin iliomad gradh,
Anois lamhamaois geasa an gheur-fuath.