Ballads of Irish chivalry :: :: University of Virginia Library

The mountains of Limerick look down on a plain
That laughs all in light to their summits again,
Green Coonagh with rivers all storied in song,
And its tall race of peasants so hardy and strong.

II

To harry rich Coonagh fierce Norris came down
From the towers of Kilmallock, by forest and town,
Swearing castle and homestead and temple to sack;
And, O, what a desert he left in his track!

III

The sun of the morning smiled bright and serene
On his ranks by Knock Rue and by Coola the green;
And how bright gleamed their spears by the tents white and fair,
As they marshalled to plunder the rich valleys there.

IV

They looked to the east and they looked to the west,
And they saw where their booty lay fairest and best;
Then they moved like a thick cloud of thunder and gloom,
When it rolls o'er the plain from the slopes of Slieve Bloom.

V

But see! they are halting—what shrill music swells
By the founts of Commogue, through the forest's green dells?
'Tis the music of Erin—the wild martial strain
Which ne'er called her sons to the combat in vain.

VI

“By Saint George!” exclaimed Norris, and stopped in his course,
With his long lance stretched forth o'er the crest of his horse,—
“By Saint George, 'tis the Gael! 'tis his pibroch's wild breath;
But he meets at Kilteely his masters and death!”

VII

'Twas the Gael. Slow they wound round the foot of Knock Rue;
Small small were their numbers, but steady and true;
And now as they filed on their path in the wood,
They saw the proud foe where exulting he stood.

VIII

“By the turrets of Limerick!” De Burgo exclaims,
“'Tis Black Norris:—a meed for his plund'ring he claims;
Be they countless as hail, back we never shall go
Till we measure our pikes with the steel of the foe.”

IX

Have ye seen Avonmore, how it rushes and fills
When the flood-gates of autumn are loosed on the hills?
So the tall men of Limerick sweep down on the spears
Of Norris the proud and his fair cavaliers.

X

Young De Burgo is there in his trappings so bright,
And he rides side by side with his chief through the fight;
But now he darts forward and cleaves his red way
Where the banner of England stands proud in the ray.

XI

There Norris receives him with taunt and with sneer,
With his arquebus ball and a lunge of his spear;
But the pike of De Burgo deep gashes his head,
And he sinks by his banner 'mid wounded and dead.

XII

Back rode the young warrior unscathéd by all,
The rush of his foemen, the spear-thrust and ball;
With bearing defiant he treads o'er the slain,
And clears a good road to his chieftain again.

XIII

The Saxons cry loud for their chief:—Where is he?
Struck down at the foot of his own banner-tree;
And the banner is gone: there is fear on each brow,
And a wild panic spreads through their broken ranks now.

XIV

And soon they are scattered away through the woods,
Like the grey Connacht sands by the westerly floods;
But they bear off their chieftain afar as they fly,
And they lay him in Mallow to rave and to die.