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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
A BALLAD OF ATHLONE;
OR, HOW THEY BROKE DOWN THE BRIDGE.
Does any man dream that a Gael can fear?
Of a thousand deeds let him learn but one!
The Shannon swept onward, broad and clear
Between the leaguers and worn Athlone.
Of a thousand deeds let him learn but one!
The Shannon swept onward, broad and clear
Between the leaguers and worn Athlone.
‘Break down the bridge!’ Six warriors rushed
Through the storm of shot and the storm of shell:
With late, but certain, victory flushed
The grim Dutch gunners eyed them well.
Through the storm of shot and the storm of shell:
With late, but certain, victory flushed
The grim Dutch gunners eyed them well.
They wrenched at the planks 'mid a hail of fire:
They fell in death, their work half done:
The bridge stood fast; and nigh and nigher
The foe swarmed darkly, densely on.
They fell in death, their work half done:
The bridge stood fast; and nigh and nigher
The foe swarmed darkly, densely on.
‘O who for Erin will strike a stroke?
Who hurl yon planks where the waters roar?’
Six warriors forth from their comrades broke
And flung them upon that bridge once more.
Who hurl yon planks where the waters roar?’
Six warriors forth from their comrades broke
And flung them upon that bridge once more.
Again at the rocking planks they dashed;
And four dropped dead; and two remained:
The huge beams groaned, and the arch downcrashed;—
Two stalwart swimmers the margin gained.
And four dropped dead; and two remained:
The huge beams groaned, and the arch downcrashed;—
Two stalwart swimmers the margin gained.
118
St. Ruth in his stirrups stood up and cried,
‘I have seen no deed like that in France!’
With a toss of his head Sarsfield replied
‘They had luck, the dogs! 'Twas a merry chance!’
‘I have seen no deed like that in France!’
With a toss of his head Sarsfield replied
‘They had luck, the dogs! 'Twas a merry chance!’
O many a year upon Shannon's side
They sang upon moor and they sang upon heath
Of the twain that breasted that raging tide,
And the ten that shook bloody hands with Death!
They sang upon moor and they sang upon heath
Of the twain that breasted that raging tide,
And the ten that shook bloody hands with Death!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |