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

“Come up to the hill, Johnnie Moran, and the de'il's in the sight you will see;
King William's stout men in the lowlands are marching o'er valley and lea;
Brave cannon they bring for their warfare, good powder and bullets galore,
To batter the grey walls of Limerick adown by the deep Shannon shore.”

II

They girded their corslets and sabres that morning so glorious and still,
They leapt like good men to their saddles, and took the lone path to the hill;
And they swept through the ferns and the heather as on towards the upland they prest,
Till at length they alighted—crouched down—and peered warily over the crest.

III

“Look down to the east, Johnnie Moran, where the wings of the morning are spread;
Each basnet you see in the sunlight it gleams on an enemy's head;
Look down on their long line of baggage, their huge guns of iron and brass,
That, as sure as my name is O'Hogan, will never to Limerick pass.

IV

“Spur, then, to the foot of Kimaultha—see Ned of the Hill on your way—
Have all the brave boys at the muster by Carna at close of the day;
I'll ride off for Sarsfield to Limerick and tell what we've seen from the hill;
And if Sarsfield won't capture their cannon, by the Cross of Kildare but we will!”

V

Away to the north went young Johnnie like an arbalest bolt in his speed,
Away to the west bold O'Hogan gives bridle and spur to his steed;
Through the swift highland river he dashes, down the heather-clad moorland amain,
Till he biddeth farewell to the uplands and speeds o'er the broad grassy plain.

VI

You'd search from the grey Rock of Cashel each side to the blue ocean's rim,
Through green dale and hamlet and city, but you'd ne'er find a horseman like him;
With his foot as if grown to the stirrup, his knee with its rooted hold ta'en,
With his seat in the saddle so graceful and his sure hand so light on the rein.

VII

As the cloud-shadow skims o'er the meadows when the fleet-wingéd summer winds blow,
By war-wasted castle and village and streamlet and crag doth he go;
The foam-flakes drop quick from his charger, yet never a bridle draws he,
Till he baits in the hot blazing noontide by the cool fairy well of Lisbwee.

VIII

He rubbed down his good charger fondly, the dry grass he heaped for its food,
A crust for himself and a cress, with a drink of the sweet crystal flood;
And he's up in the saddle and flying o'er woodlands and broad fields once more,
Till the sand 'neath the hoofs of his charger is crunched by the wide Shannon's shore.

IX

For never a ford did he linger but swam his brave steed right across;
It clomb up the bank like a wolf-dog, then dashed over meadow and moss;
The shepherds who looked from the upland, they crossed themselves thrice as he passed,
And they said 'twas a sprite from Crag Eevill went by on the wings of the blast.

Part the Second.

X

A summons from William to Limerick—a summons to open their gate,
Their fortress and stores to surrender, else the sword and the gun were their fate.
Brave Sarsfield he answered the summons: “Though all holy Ireland in flames
Blazed up to the skies to consume us, we'll hold the good town for King James!”

XI

When the answer was brought to King William, in his anger he vowed and he swore
That he'd bury the town, ere he'd leave it, in grim fiery ruin and gore;
From black Cromwell's Fort with his cannon he hammered it well all the day,
And he wished for his huge guns to back him, that were yet moving slow far away.

XII

The soft vesper bell from St. Mary's tolled out in the calm sunset air,
As Sarsfield stood high on the rampart and looked o'er the green fields of Clare;
And anon from the copses of Cratloe a flash to his keen eyes there came;
'Twas the spike of O'Hogan's bright basnet glistening forth in the red sunset flame.

XIII

Then down came the galloping horseman with the speed of a culverin ball,
And he reined up his foam-fleckéd charger with a gallant gambade by the wall;

With his eyes he searched tower, fosse, and rampart—they lay all securely and still;
And then to the bold Lord of Lucan he told what he'd seen from the hill.

XIV

The good steed he rests in the stable, the bold rider feasts at the board,
But the gay laughing revel once ended, he'll soon have a feast for his sword;
And now he looks out at the window where the moonbeams shine pale on the square,
For Sarsfield, full dight in his harness, with five hundred bold troopers is there.

XV

He's mounted his steed in the moonlight and away from the North Gate they go,
Where the woods cast their black spectral shadows and the streams with their lone voices flow;
The peasants awoke from their slumbers, when they heard them sweep by through the glen,
And they thought 'twas the great Garrod Earla rushing past from Lough Gur with his men.

XVI

The grey ghostly midnight was round them, the banks they were rocky and steep;
A hoarse roar came up from the Shannon, for the huge stream was rapid and deep;

But the bold Lord of Lucan dashed downwards, he asked for no light save the moon's,
And he's forded the broad lordly Shannon with his galloping guide and dragoons.

XVII

The star of the morning out glimmered as fast by Lisearley they rode,
As they swept round the base of Kimaultha the sun on their bright helmets glowed.
Now the steeds in a valley are grazing while the riders repose by the rill,
And Sarsfield peers out like an eagle on the low-lying plain from the hill.

Part the Third.

XVIII

O'Hogan is down in the lowlands, a watch on the track of the foe;
Johnnie Moran from Carna is marching, that his men be in time for a blow;
All day from the slope of Slieve Felim, the tall Lord of Lucan looks down
On the roads where the train of King William on its slow march of danger is bowne.

XIX

The red sunset died in the heavens; night fell over mountain and shore;
The moon shed her light on the valleys, and the stars glimmered brightly once more;
Then Sarsfield sprang up from the heather, for a horse tramp he heard on the waste,—
'Twas O'Hogan, the black mountain sweeping, like a spectre of night in his haste.

XX

“Lord Lucan, they've camped on the heather beside Ballyneety's grey tower;
I have found out the path to fall on them as they sleep in the still midnight hour;
They have powder, pontoons, and great cannons—dhar dhee, those huge cannons are bright!
They have treasure galore for the taking, and their password is ‘Sarsfield’ to-night!”

XXI

The stars of the midnight were shining when the sleeping dragoons got the word;
Each sprang with one bound to his saddle and looked to his pistols and sword;
And away down Slieve Felim's broad valleys the guide and bold Sarsfield are gone,
While the long stream of helmets behind them in the cold moonlight glimmered and shone.

XXII

They paused not for loud brawling river, they looked not for togher or path,
They swept up the long street of Cullen with the speed of the storm in its wrath:
When at length on the verge of the camp—“Give the password!” rang out in their van,
Exultant the answer came:—“Sarsfield's the password and Sarsfield's the man!”

XXIII

And Sarsfield rode on with his troop like a torrent through Ounanaar's glen,
And down on the enemy's convoy, who stood to their cannons like men,
With a sudden and loud-ringing war-cry that wakened night's echoes they crashed,
And with sabre and pistol drawn ready through the midst of th' encampment they dashed.

XXIV

They have conquered and scattered the convoy; they've captured King William's great train,
And they laugh as they look on the spoil for they'll ne'er see such wonders again;
Those guns with one loud-roaring volley might batter a strong mountain down:
Wirrasthru for its gallant defenders if they e'er came to Limerick town!

XXV

They filled them and rammed them with powder, they turned down their mouths in the clay,
The dry powder casks they piled round them, the baggage above did they lay;
A fuse-train they laid to the powder, afar to the greenwood out thrown:
“Now give it the match,” cried Lord Lucan, “and an earthquake we'll have of our own!”

XXVI

O'Hogan the quick fuse he lighted—a flash and a whiz—then a glare
Of broad blinding brightness infernal blazed out on the calm midnight air;
An outburst of thunder volcanic to the bright stars of heaven uptore,
And old Ballyneety's grey castle came down with a crash at the roar.

XXVII

The firm earth it rocked and it trembled, the moon hid her visage on high,
And the fragments of guns, carts, and tumbrils showered flaming around through the sky;
The fierce sound o'er highland and valley rolled on like the dread earthquake's tramp,
And it wakened the distant besiegers as they slumbered that night in their camp.

XXVIII

Lord Lucan dashed back o'er the Shannon ere the bright star of morning arose,
With his men through the North Gate he clattered, unhurt and unseen by his foes:
Johnnie Moran rushed down from old Carna—not a foe did he see for his blade,
But his men searched the camp in its ruin, and the de'il's in the spoil that they made!