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256 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Cried, " My hand to the Sassenach ! ne'er may I hurl Another to earth if I call him a churl ! He finds me in clothing, in booty, in bread — My Chief, won't O'Shanaghan give him a bed?"
" Land of Owen, aboo! " and the Irish rushed on — The foe fired but one volley—their gunners are gone; Before the bare bosoms the steel-coats have fled, Or, despite casque or corslet, lie dying and dead.
And brave Harry Bagenal, he fell while he fought With many gay gallants—they slept as men ought; Their faces to Heaven—there were others, alack ! By pikes overtaken, and taken aback.
And my Irish got clothing, coin, colors, great store, Arms, forage, and provender—plunder go leof ! ' They munched the white manchets—they champed
the brown chine, Fnilleluah ! * for that day, how the natives did dine !
The Chieftain looked on, when O'Shanaghan rose,
And cried, " Hearken, O'Neill! I've a health to propose—
'To our Sassenach hosts'" and all quaffed in huge glee.
With " Cead mile faille go* BEAL-AN-ATHA-BUIDH ! "
1 Go leor, in abundance.
2 Fuillelnah, joyous exclamation.
3 Ceadmile faille go, a hundred thousand welcomes to. |
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