The Slasher Prince

Upon the bridge where swords met steel and fate,
In Finea’s mist, where river waters weep,
There stood a man, a prince in name and soul,
Myles O’Reilly, Slasher of the foe.

Descended from the kings of old Breifne,
A chieftain’s blood ran strong within his veins,
With Ireland’s pride aflame within his heart,
He dared to stand, though England pressed him low.

They called him but a man, yet giants fell,
The Scottish beast cut down with but one stroke.
His blade, a flash of vengeance in the dusk,
An iron whisper sung in rebel hands.

“Forward with us!” he cried, “for hearth and home!”
Against the tide of men and marching steel,
Though outnumbered, still he did not yield,
For land, for love, for Ireland’s sacred soul.

Oh, Slasher Prince, your spirit lingers yet,
Within the stones, the rivers, and the wind,
A fearless shade, a guardian of the past,
Son of Ireland, warrior of the free.

Forever the hero, whose name shall never fade,
Upon this isle where rebel hearts still beat.
My love for you, my ancestor, my hero,
Your blood runs deep within my soul today.