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6o THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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NEIL M'DEVITT BATTLE OF DUNDALK
LO, they come, they come; but all too late—their. king is on the wave, Bound to the mast of a Danish ship, the pirate Northman's slave, Dundalk, on thy shore is often heard the roar of the,
boiling sea, i
But wilder far is the madd'ning shout that now is
heard by thee; ..' ,
The voice of the soldier's rage when the foe with the
prize is fled, And the bursting-yell of pale despair when-hope itself
is dead; Then o'er that warrior-band in wrath a deathlike silence
pass'd i
As they gazed when Sitrick's sails unfurlld swell'd proudly to the blast. . . .'■.-.'
And must he go? Shall Monomia's king,serve in:a
hostile land ? . <
Oh, for one ship! with Irish hearts, to crush that Danish
band ! But hark ! a cheer—and the list'ning hills give back
the joyous sound. A sail—a sail is seen away where the skies the waters
bound. There's a pause anew—each searching eye is on that
sail afar; Again the cheer rings loud and high—'tis Monomia's
ship of war. |
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