The Stark County Democrat. [volume] (Canton, Ohio) 1833-1912, 1869-02-17
FoNTENoY.
1745--BY THOMAS DAVIS.

Thrice, at the huts of Foutenoy, the En-
giish column failed,
And, twice, the lines of Saint Antoine, the
Dutch in vain assailed
For town and slope were filed with for
and thanking battery,
And well they swept the English ranks anC
Dutch auxiliary,
As vainly through De Barri's wood, the
British soldiers burst,
The French artillery drove them back, di
minished and dispersed
The bloody Duke of Cumberland behelC
with anxious eye,
And ordered up his last reserve, his lates
chance to try;
On Fontenoy On Fontenoy how fast hi
generals ride
And mastering come his chosen troops, like
clouds At eyentide.
Six thousand English veterans in stately
column tread,
Their cannon blaze in front and flank, Lorc
Hay is at their head;
Steady they step adown the slope-steady
they climb the hill;
Steady they load-steady they fire-movinl
right onward still,
Betwixt the wood and Fontenoy, as through
q furnace blast
Through rampant, trench, and paliSade, snC
bllets showering fast;
And on the open plain above, they rose anC
kepttheir course,
With steady IRE and grim resolve, Ihal
mocked at hostile force;
Past Fontenoy, past FUnteAoy, while thinner
grew their ranks
They broke, as broke the Zuyder Zee thro
Hnllandia nnaur
More idly than the summer flies, French
tiraileurs rush round
As stubble to the lava ude, French SQUAD
rons strew the ground,
Bomb shell and grape, and round-shOt tore,
still on they marched and fired
Fast, from each volley, grenadier and vol
tigeur retired
''Push on, my household caValryl" King
Louis madly cried;
To death they rush, but rude their shock
not unayenged they died.
On through the camp the column trOd-
King Louis turns his rein
',Not yet, my liege," SAKE interposed, "the
Irish troops remain"
And Fontenoy, famed Fontenoy, had been
as Waterloo
Were not those exiles ready then, fresh,
vehement and true.
-
"Lord Glare" he says, "you have your
wish, there are your Saxon foes 90
The Marshal almost smiles to see, so furi-
ously he goes, -.
How fierce the looks these exiles wear,
who're wont to be so gay,
The treasured wrongs of fifty years are in
their hearts to-day.
lt,r.e
twas wrote could dry,
Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines,
their Women's parting ciy,
Their priesthood hunted down like wolves,
their country Overthrown-
Each looks as if revenge for all was staked
on him alone, slt
On Fontenoy, on Fontsnoy, nor ever yet
elsewhere,
Rushed on to fight nobler band than these
proud exiles were.
O'Brien's voice is hoarse with joy, as, halt
ing, he commands,
Fix bayonets, p" charge pike noun
tain storm rush on the fiery bandsI
Thin is the English column now, and faint
their volleys grow.
Yet must'ring all the strength they have,
they make gallant show.
They dress their ranks upon the hill to face
that battle wind.
Their bayonets the breakers foam; like
rocks the men behind
One yolley crsshes from their lines, when
through the sprging smoke,
With empty guns clutched in their hands,
the headlong Irish broke;
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoyl bark to that
fierce huzza
'Revengsl remember Limerick dash down
the SaSsenach
Like lions leaping at fold, when mad with
hunger'S pang, a. f.
Right up against the English line the Irish
exiles sprang;
Bright was their steel, itis 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, fed,
The green hill side is matted close with dy-
ing and with dead,
Across the plain and far away, passed on
that hideOus wrack,
While cavalier and fantassin dashed in upon
their track,
On Fontenoy, on FontenOyi like eagles in
the sun, -
With bloody plumes--the exlles stand-the
field is fought and wonl