The Ballad of Athlone

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
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.

"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.

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.

St. Ruth in Lis 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
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!