The Ballad of Athlone

By Aubrey de Vere

Does any man dream that a Gael can fear? Of a thousand deeds let him learn but one! The Shannon swept onwards broad and clear, Between the leaguers and broad Athlone.

‘Break down the bridge!’ - Six warriors rushed Through the storm of shot and the storm of shell; With late but certain victory flushed. The grim Dutch gunners eyed them well.

They wrench’d at the planks ‘mid a hail of fire; They fell in death, their work half done; The bridge stood fast; and nigh and nigher The foe swarmed darkly, densely on.

“Oh, who for Erin, will strike a stroke? Who hurl yon planks where the waters roar? Six warriors forth from their comrades broke, And flung them upon that bridge once more.

Again at the rocking planks they dashed; And four dropped dead, and two remained; The huge beams groaned, and the arch down-crashed - Two stalwart swimmers the margin gained.

St. Ruth in his stirrups stood up, and cried, “I have seen no deed like that in France!” With a toss of his head, Sarsfield replied, “They had luck, the dogs!‘Twas a merry chance!

O many a year, upon Shannon’s side, They sang upon moor and they sang upon heath, Of the twain that breasted that raging tide, And the ten that shook bloody hands with Death!