| |
| 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. | |
| |
| “Break down the bridge!”—Six warriors rushed | 5 |
| 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: | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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 down-crashed; | |
| Two stalwart swimmers the margin gained. | 20 |
| |
| 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! ’T was a merry chance!” | |
| |
| O, many a year upon Shannon’s side | 25 |
| 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! | |
| |
