 | Ballads of Irish chivalry |  |
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THE TAKING OF ARMAGH.
A.D. 1596.
I
'Twas fast by grey Killoter we made the Saxons run,We hewed them with the claymore, and smote them with the gun.
“Armagh! Armagh!” cried Norris, as wild he spurred away,
And sore beset and scattered, they reached its walls that day!
II
Alas! we had no cannon to batter down the gate,To level fosse and rampart, so we were forced to wait,
And 'leaguer late and early that place of old renown,
By dint of plague and famine to bring the foeman down.
III
Then up and spake our general, the great and fearless Hugh:“We'll give them fit amusement while we've nought else to do;
Then deftly ply your bullets, and pick the warders down,
And well watch pass and togher that none may leave the town”.
IV
We camped amid the valleys and bonnie woods about,But spite of all our watching, one gallant wight got out,
121
And told them of our leaguer, and all their woeful plight.
V
Then Norris raised his gauntlet, and smote his mailéd breast—“God curse these northern rebels with fire and plague and pest!
Ho! captain of the arsenal, send food and succour forth,
For if we lose that stronghold, the Queen must lose the North!”
VI
'Twas on a stormy twilight, when wildly roared the blast,Up to our prince's standard a scout came spurring fast,
And told him how that convoy—four hundred stalworth men—
Had pitched their camp at sunset by Gartan's woody glen.
VII
“Then let them take their slumber”, said our great prince that night—“God wot, they'll sleep far sounder before the morning's light:
My son, thou'rt ever yearning to win one meed—renown;
Go! if thou slay'st the convoy, then we will take the town!”
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VIII
He sprang upon his charger, our prince's gallant son,And fast his path we followed, till Gartan's glen we won;
And there beside the torrent, with watch-fires burning low,
Deep in their fatal slumber, we spied the Saxon foe.
IX
When booms the autumn thunder, and thickly pours the rain,From Mourne's great mountain valley the flood sweeps o'er the plain—
While up our drums we rattled, and loud our trumpets blew,
Like that wild torrent swept we upon the Saxon crew!
X
We swept upon their vanguard, we rushed on rere and flank,Like corn before the sickle we mowed them rank on rank,
And ere the ghostly midnight we'd slain them every one—
I trow they slept far sounder before the morrow's dawn!
XI
“Now don the convoy's garments, and take their standard too”,—'Twas thus at blink of morning out spake our gallant Hugh;
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With all their promised succour, and see what shall befall!”
XII
We donned their blood-red garments, and shook their banner free,We marched us toward the city, a gallant sight to see;
Upon their drums we rattled the Saxon point of war,
And soon the foemen heard us, and answered from afar.
XIII
From dreams of lordly banquets that morn the Saxons woke,When on their ears our clamour of drums and trumpets broke;
And up they sprang full blithely, and crowded one and all,
Like lank wolves, gazing greedily from loop-hole, gate, and wall.
XIV
There was an ancient abbey, a pile of ruined stone,Two gun-shots from the ramparts, amid the wild woods lone;
And there he lay in ambush—our tanist brave and young—
And as we neared the city, upon our flank he sprung!
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XV
With all his rushing troopers out from the wood he sped,Their matchlocks filled with powder—they did not want the lead—
And well they feigned the onset with shot and sabre stroke,
And deftly too we met them with clouds of harmless smoke!
XVI
Some tossed them from their saddles to imitate the slain;Whole ranks fell at each volley along the bloodless plain;
And groans and hollow murmurs of well-feigned woe and fear,
From that strange fight rang mournfully upon the foeman's ear!
XVII
Up heaved the huge portcullis, round swang the ponderous gate,Out rushed the foe to rescue, or share their comrades' fate;
And fiercely waved their banners, and bright their lances shone,
And, “George for merry England!” they cried as they fell on.
XVIII
Saint Columb! the storm of laughter that from our ranks arose,As up the corpses started, and fell upon our foes;
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And met the foe with claymore, red pike, and petronel!
XIX
'Twas then from out the forest our mighty chieftain came,Like a fierce autumn tempest of roaring wind and flame—
So loud his horsemen thundered, and rang their slogan free,
And swept upon th'affrighted foe with all his chivalrie!
XX
Yet stout retired the Saxon, though he was sore distrait,'Till, with his ranks commingled, in burst we through the gate;
Then soon the Red Hand fluttered upon their highest towers,
And wild we raised our triumph shout, for old Armagh was ours!
| Ballads of Irish chivalry | |