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SEA SONGS. 125
Then, how the blest words passed
Through every hungering home, " Oh, God be praised ! at last
They come! look—look—they come ! His servants, God will save;
Their foes, He will consume; Let Priest and Papist rave ;
His hand Avill rend the boom ! "
Up Lough Foyle, on each shore,
The foe—they rouse—they run, And Deny hears the roar,
From many an Irish gun; Flash and roar—to what wild fear,
Their hearts, those thunders doom ! But see! near and more near,
The ships drive towards the boom !
How gaunt, with straining sight,
Those ghastly crowds gaze forth, Through the fast darkening light,
Wild glaring towards the North ! A moment—all must know
Their own and Derry's doom ; Now, Browning—Leake, they go
Straight at the awful boom.