 | Sea Songs |  |
124
THE BURSTING OF THE BOOM.
JULY 30TH, 1689. BY A PRENTICE BOY OF DERRY.
Yes—Derry minds her yet
Who snatched her from her doom;
Could Derry dare forget,
His bursting of the boom?
No—dead must be her pride
When her memory has no room
For him who for her died
At the bursting of the boom.
Who snatched her from her doom;
Could Derry dare forget,
His bursting of the boom?
No—dead must be her pride
When her memory has no room
For him who for her died
At the bursting of the boom.
From Derry's leaguered wall
Starved eyes watched, day by day,
To where, unmoving all,
Kirke's English succours lay;
'Twas then, when hope half died,
And death seemed Derry's doom,
Up, on the Foyle's full tide,
Rose sails towards the boom.
Starved eyes watched, day by day,
To where, unmoving all,
Kirke's English succours lay;
'Twas then, when hope half died,
And death seemed Derry's doom,
Up, on the Foyle's full tide,
Rose sails towards the boom.
125
Then, how the blest words passed
Through every hungering home,
“Oh, God be praised! at last
They come! look—look—they come!
His servants, God will save;
Their foes, He will consume;
Let Priest and Papist rave;
His hand will rend the boom!”
Through every hungering home,
“Oh, God be praised! at last
They come! look—look—they come!
His servants, God will save;
Their foes, He will consume;
Let Priest and Papist rave;
His hand will rend the boom!”
Up Lough Foyle, on each shore,
The foe—they rouse—they run,
And Derry hears the roar,
From many an Irish gun;
Flash and roar—to what wild fear,
Their hearts, those thunders doom!
But see! near and more near,
The ships drive towards the boom!
The foe—they rouse—they run,
And Derry hears the roar,
From many an Irish gun;
Flash and roar—to what wild fear,
Their hearts, those thunders doom!
But see! near and more near,
The ships drive towards the boom!
How gaunt, with straining sight,
Those ghastly crowds gaze forth,
Through the fast darkening light,
Wild glaring towards the North!
A moment—all must know
Their own and Derry's doom;
Now, Browning—Leake, they go
Straight at the awful boom.
Those ghastly crowds gaze forth,
Through the fast darkening light,
Wild glaring towards the North!
A moment—all must know
Their own and Derry's doom;
Now, Browning—Leake, they go
Straight at the awful boom.
126
Ah, how their poor hearts fell!
The Mountjoy takes the ground!
Hark to that Irish yell!
What murder's in the sound!
Hurrah! a moment dashed
Aground, she 'scapes her doom!
Browning, ahead, has crashed
Triumphant through the boom!
The Mountjoy takes the ground!
Hark to that Irish yell!
What murder's in the sound!
Hurrah! a moment dashed
Aground, she 'scapes her doom!
Browning, ahead, has crashed
Triumphant through the boom!
He comes to shrieks of joy!
He comes to clasping hands!
Ah! where's proud Derry's boy,
As the food his good ship lands?
Her Captain hears no more;
He slumbers, death his doom,
For her who still tells o'er
How Browning burst the boom.
He comes to clasping hands!
Ah! where's proud Derry's boy,
As the food his good ship lands?
Her Captain hears no more;
He slumbers, death his doom,
For her who still tells o'er
How Browning burst the boom.
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