Verse > Anthologies > Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. > Poems of Places > Spain, &c.
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed.  Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV.  1876–79.
 
Belgium: Landen
How Sarsfield Died in Glory
Robert Dwyer Joyce (1830–1883)
 
’T WAS in that sad and woful year
  Of war and famine, death and fear,
When Ireland lowered her banner spear
  On Limerick’s turrets hoary,
We took to ship and sailed the sea        5
Unto the shore of Normandie,
And then once more our banner free
      Flashed to the ray
      In many a fray,
And victor saw that bloody day        10
  When Sarsfield died in glory!
 
The morn rose red on Landen plain,
King William charged o’er heaps of slain,
And Frenchmen’s blood poured out like rain
  Upon the field so gory;        15
To stem his onset vain they tried,
As on he swept in warlike pride,
Till Luxemburg, our marshal, cried,
      “New force we want
      To bear the brunt,        20
So bring the Irish to the front!”
  Where Sarsfield died in glory.
 
Then you should hear our slogan roar,
Loud swell the din of battle o’er,
As forward our battalions bore        25
  To change the Frenchman’s story;
Against the foe our strength we threw,
And mixed us in the bloody brew,
While swords and spears in flinders flew,
      And grape and shot        30
      And bullets hot
Rained round the crimson, fatal spot
  Where Sarsfield died in glory!
 
There, like the bolt that from on high
Tears roaring through the storm-wracked sky,        35
And on the trembling ground anigh
  In thunder bursts before ye;
So our brave chieftain ’neath the ball,
In thundering clangor met his fall,
But rallying at his dying call,        40
      With deafening shout,
      Our foemen stout,
We swept away in bloody rout,
  Where Sarsfield died in glory!
 
His hand upon the wound he pressed,        45
Sad sinking to his final rest,
Then took it from his gallant breast,
  With his hot life-blood gory—
“O, would,” the dying hero cried,
“That this my heart’s ensanguined tide        50
Had stained some native mountain side
      For old Ireland!”
      Then dropped his hand,
And midst our tearful, conquering band
  Brave Sarsfield died in glory!        55
 
Then all good men, where’er you be,
Who fought for Ireland’s liberty,
Our hero brave lament with me,
  And ponder well his story;
And pray, like him, that you may die        60
Beneath old Ireland’s genial sky,
With Saxon dead piled mountains high,
      The spot around
      Where you have found
The hero’s death on Irish ground        65
  That Sarsfield died in glory!
 
 
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