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THE BURSTING OF THE BOOM.
JULY 3OTH, 1689. BY A PRENTICE BOY OF DERRY.
Yes—Derry minds her yet
Who snatched her from her doom ; Could Derry dare forget,
His bursting of the boom ? No—dead must be her pride
When her memory has no room For him who for her died
At the bursting of the boom.
From Derry's leaguered wall
Starved eyes watched, day by day, To where, unmoving all,
Kirke's English succours lay ; 'Twas then, when hope half died,
And death seemed Derry's doom, Up, on the Foyle's full tide,
Rose sails towards the boom.