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Badb

In Irish mythology, the Badb (Old Irish, pronounced [ˈbaðβ]), or in Modern Irish Badhbh (Irish pronunciation: [ˈbˠəu], Munster Irish: [ˈbˠəiw])—also meaning "crow"—is a war goddess who takes the form of a crow, and is thus sometimes known as Badb Catha ("battle crow"). She is known to cause fear and confusion among soldiers to move the tide of battle to her favoured side. Badb may also appear prior to a battle to foreshadow the extent of the carnage to come, or to predict the death of a notable person. She would sometimes do this through wailing cries, leading to comparisons with the bean-sídhe (banshee). With her sisters, Macha and the Morrigan or Anand, Badb is part of a trio of war goddesses known as the three Morrígna. more »

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Lift MacCahir Óg your face
Brooding over the old disgrace
That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place
Drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure
Soon the firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at Glenmalure
With Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne

Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now FitzWilliam have a care
Fallen is your star low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we'll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word
Follow me up to Carlow

Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now FitzWilliam have a care
Fallen is your star low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we'll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word
Follow me up to Carlow

See the swords of Glen Imaal
They're flashing over the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael
Beneath O'Byrne's banners
Rooster of a fighting stock
Would you let a foreign cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock?
Fly up and teach him manners

Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now FitzWilliam have a care
Fallen is your star low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we'll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word
Follow me up to Carlow

From Tassagart to Clonmore
There flows a stream of Saxon gore
O great is Rory Óg O'More
At sending the loons to Hades
White is sick Grey is dead,
Now for black FitzWilliam's head
We'll send it over dripping red
To Queen Liza and her ladies

Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now FitzWilliam have a care
Fallen is your star low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we'll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word
Follow me up to Carlow

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