title: The Rising of the Moon
text: The Rising of the Moon zo ur ganaouenn iwerzhonat, skrivet e saozneg gant John Keegan Casey (1846-70), ar "Fenian Poet", ar barzh Fenian.
  
  Istor
  Savet e voe war don ur c'han all — The Wearing of the Green — hag embannet e 1866 e-barzh e levr A Wreath of Shamrocks, un dastumad barzhonegoù ha kanaouennoù. 
  
  Savet eo ar son diwar-benn emsavadeg 1798 e kontelezh Kildare pa oa an United Irishmen o c'hervel an dud d'en em sevel.
  
  Ar son
  O then, tell me Sean O'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so?
  "Hush a bhuachaill, hush and listen", and his cheeks were all aglow, 
  "I bear orders from the captain:- get you ready quick and soon
  For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon"
  By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon,
  For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon<p>
  
  "O then tell me Sean O'Farrell where the gath'rin is to be?" 
  "In the old spot by the river, right well known to you and me.
  One more word for signal token:- whistle up a marchin' tune,
  With your pike upon your shoulder, by the rising of the moon."
  By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
  With your pike upon your shoulder, by the rising of the moon.<p>
  
  Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night,
  Many a manly heart was beatin, for the coming morning light.
  Murmurs ran along the valleys to the banshee's lonely croon
  And a thousand pikes were flashing at the rising of the moon.
  At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon. 
  And a thousand pikes were flashing at the rising of the moon. 
  
  <P>
  All along that singing river that black mass of men were seen,
  High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green. 
  "Death to every foe and traitor! Forward! Strike the marching tune." 
  And hurrah my boys for freedom; 'tis the rising of the moon".
  Tis the rising of the moon, tis the rising of the moon
  And hurrah my boy for freedom; 'Tis the rising of the moon".
  
  <P>
  Well they fought for poor old Ireland, and full bitter was their fate, 
  Oh what glorious pride and sorrow, fills the name of ninety-eight! 
  Yet, thank God, e'en still are beating hearts in manhood burning noon, 
  Who would follow in their footsteps, at the risin' of the moon
  By the rising of the moon, By the rising of the moon 
  Who would follow in their footsteps, at the risin' of the moon.
  
  <P>
  
  kanaouennoù saoznek Iwerzhon