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2i4 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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With empty guns clutched in their hands, the headlong Irish broke.
On Fontenoy, on Fonteno.y, hark to that fierce huzza !
"Revenge! remember Limerick! dash down the Sacsanach 1''
Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger's
pang, Right up against the English line the Irish exiles
sprang: Bright was their steel, 'tis bloody now, their guns are
filled with gore; Through shattered ranks, and severed files, and trampled flags they tore; The English strove with desperate strength, paused,
rallied, staggered, fled — The green hillside is matted close with dying and with
dead. Across the plain and far away passed on that hideous
wrack, While cavalier and fantassin dash in upon their track. On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun, With bloody plumes the Irish stand—the field is fought
and won ! |
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MAIRE BHAN A STOR
I
N a valley far away With my Maire bhan a stor,1 Short would be the summer day, Ever loving more and more.
1 Maire bhan a stor, Fair Mary my treasure,—pronounced Maurya vaun astore. |
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