Subject: Lyr Add: THE BATTLE OF THE BOYNE
From:
Alison
Date: 11 Jun 97 - 11:09 PM
Hi
See if this is the one you want.
THE BATTLE OF THE BOYNE
A kingly host upon a stream, a monarch camped around
Its southern upland far and wide their white pavilions crowned;
Not long ago that sky unclouded showed, nor beneath the ray,
That gentle stream in silver flowed to meet the new-born day.
Peals the loud gun—its thunders boom the echoing vales along
While curtained in its sulfurous boom moves on the gallant thrown.
And Foot and Horse in mingled mass, regardless all of life,
With furious ardor onward pass to join the deadly strife.
Not strange that with such ardent flame each glowing heart beats high,
Their battle-word was William's name and Death and Liberty!
Then Ouldbridge, then they peaceful bowers with sounds unwonted rang,
And Tredagh, mid thy distant towers, was heard the mighty clang.
The silver stream is crimsoned wide and clogged with many a corpse,
As floating down its gentle tide co-mingled man and horse;
Now fiercer grows the battle's rage, the guarded stream is crossed,
And furious, hand-to-hand, engage each bold contending host.
He falls—the veteran hero falls, renowned along the Rhine—
And he whose name, while Derry's walls endure shall brightly shine;
Oh! would to heaven that churchman bold, his arms with triumph blest,
The soldier spirit had controlled that fired his pious breast.
And he, the chief of yonder brave and persecuted band,
Who foremost rushed amid the wave and gained the hostile strand,
He bleeds, brave Caillemonte—he bleeds—'tis closed, his bright career,
Yet still that band to glorious deeds his dying accents cheer,
And now that well-contested strand successive columns gain,
While backward James yielding band are borne across the plain;
In vain the sword green Erin draws, and life away doth fling—
Oh! worthy of a better cause and of a bolder king.
In vain thy bearing bold is shown upon that blood-stained ground;
Thy towering hopes are overthrown, thy choicest fall around;
Nor, shamed abandon thou the fray, nor blush though conquered there;
A power against thee fights today no mortal arm may dare.
Hurrah! Hurrah! For Liberty, for her sword we draw,
And dared the battle while on high our Orange banners flew.
Woe worth the hour—worth the state, when men shall cease to join
Wit grateful hearts to celebrate the glories of the Boyne!
Faolain, Turlough, Blood on the Harp, Whitston, Troy, 1983.
pp173-174.
Slainte
Alison
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