Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Robert Dwyer Joyce 1830–83Crossing the Blackwater
W
All under fire,
We stood so steady,
Our long spears ready
To vent our ire:
To dash on the Saxon,
Our mortal foe,
And lay him low
In the bloody mire.
When snows were white,
’T was by Blackwater,
Our foes for the slaughter
Stood full in sight;
But we were ready
With our long spears,
And we had no fears
But we ’d win the fight.
Upon our rank,
Their bullets came whistling,
Their spears were bristling
On th’ other bank:
Yet we stood steady,
And each good blade,
Ere the morn did fade,
At their life-blood drank.
Came from our van,
“Hurrah! for Freedom!
Our swords—we ’ll feed ’em
As best we can—
With vengeance we ’ll feed ’em!”
Then down we crash’d,
Through the wild ford dash’d,
And the fray began.
And man to man:
O’er dying horses,
And blood and corses,
O’Sullivan,
Our general, thunder’d,
And we were not slack
To slay at his back
Till the fight began.
The foemen then,—
Slaughter’d and scatter’d,
And chas’d and shatter’d,
By shore and glen!
To the wall of Moyallo
Few fled that day:
Will they bar our way
When we come again?
They were but few,
Our dead freres we buried
Where the dark waves hurried,
And flash’d and flew:
O sweet be their slumber
Who thus have died
In the battle’s tide,
Inisfail, for you!