The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1866-02-02

Fontcnoy.-a745.

Fontenoy.--1745. A~@
Thrice. at the huts of Fontenoy, the Eng
lish column failed,
And. twice the lines Of Saint Antoine, the
Dutch in vain assailed;
For town and slope were filed with fort and
And % we'll they swept the English ranks and
Dutch auxiliary, lr
AS vainly, through DeBarri's wood, the
British soldiers burst,
The French artillery drove them back,
diminished and dispersed. Ia
The bloody Duke Of Cumberland behefd
with anxious eye, ,YN3A
And ordered up his last reserve, his latest
chance to try;
On Fontenoyl on Fontenoyl how fast his
generals HdeI t-l It1
And mastering come his chosen troops,
like clouds ut eventide.
Six Thousand English veterans in stately
column tread; ,a
Their cannon blaze in front and flank
Lord Bay is at their head: f
Steady they step a-down the siope-steady
they climb the hill; -
Steady they load steady they fre, moving
right onward still, i@
Betwixt the wood and Fontenoy, as thro'
furnace blast, Rs
Through rampant, trench and pallisade,
and bullets showering fast;
And on the open plain above, they rose and
kept their course,
With ready fire and grim resolve, that
Knocked at hostile force;
Past Fontenoy, past Fontenoy, while thin
ner grew their ranks
They break, as broke the Zuyder-Zee thro'
Hollands ocean banks.
More idly than the. summer flies, French
,tiralleurs rush round:
As stubble to;the laya tide, French squad
rons strew the ground;
NBomb-shells and grape and round-shot
tore; still on they marched and fred
Fast from each volley,, grenadier and vol
tiguer retired.
'sPush on, my household cavalryl" King
Louis Idly oried; SO 80 4.-2 :
To death they rush, but rude their shock
not unayenged they died. --'.'
On through the camp the column trod-
King Louis turns his rein.
'sNot yet, my iege," SAKE interposed, 'ethe
Irish troops remain"
And Fontenoy, famed Fontenoy, had been
at Waterloo,
We're not these exiles ready, then, fresh,
Nll vehement and tr1e. ~
'sLord Clare" he says, ssyou have your
wish--there are your Saxon foes!"
The Marshal almost smiles to see, so fl-
riously he goes! .hs'i iit
How fierce the look these exiles wear.
who're wont to be 80 gay!
The treasured wrongs Of fifty years are in
their hearts to-day
The treaty broken, ere the ink wherewith
twas wrote could dry, n,
Their plunder' d homes, their ruin'd shrines,
their women's parting cry,
Their priesthood hunted down like wolves,
the country overthrown-
Each looks, as if revenge for all were
staked on him alone,
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet
elsewhere, VI
Rushed on to fight anobler band than these
proud exiles were.
OBrien's voice is hoarse with Joy, as, halt
ing, he. commands,
'sFix bay nets" -s'charge!"-like mountain
storm rush on those fiery bands!
This is the English column now, and faint
their volleys grow,
Yet, mustHng all the strength they have,
they make gallant show;
They dress their ranks upon the hill to face
that battle-wind-i =:
Their bayonets the breakers foam; like
rocks, the men behind!
One volley crashes from their line, when,
through the surging smoke,
With empty guns clutched in their hands,
the head1ong Irish broke.
On Fontenoy! on Fontenoyl hark to that
fierce huzza! "e
Revenge! remember limerick" flash
down the Sassanach!
Like lions leaping at a folds when mad with
hunger,s pang, eg3t
Right up against the English line the Irish
exiles sprangl
Bright was thofr steel tits bloody now
their guns are filed with gore;
Through shattered ranks and severed files
and trampled flags they tore;
The English strove with desperate strength
paused, rallied, staggered, fled
The green hillside is matted close with
diving and with dead