The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1869-02-23
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Il o N Il T. N O Y.


[1745.l
Thrice, at the huts Of Fonterroy, the Englis1
columns failed,
And, twice, the lines of Saint Antoine, tn
Dutch in vain assailed;
For town and slope wero filled with fort an,
fanking battery,
And well they swept the English ranks an,
Dutch auxiliary,
As vainly through De Barri's wood, the British
soldiers burst,
The French artillery drove them back, dimin
ished and dispersed,
The bloody Duke of Cumberland beheld will
anxious eye.
And ordered up his last reserve, his lates
chance to try;
On Fontenoy! On Fontenoy! how fast his gen
erals ride!
And mastering come his chosen troops, lik,
clouds at eventide
Six thousand English veterans in stately column
tread,
Their cannon blaze in front and flank, Lord Ha,
is at their head;
Steady they step adowu the slope-stcAay the,
climb the hili;
Steady they load-steady they fire-movins
right onward still,
Betwixt the wood and Fontenoy, as through .
furnace blast,
Through rampant, trench, and palisade, and bul
lets showering fast;
And on the open plain above, they rose ant
kept their course,
With steady fire and grim resolve, that Knocked
at hostile force;
Past Fcntcnoy, past Fortenoy, while thinner
grew their ranks,
They broke, as broke the Zuyder Zee through
Hollands ocean banks.
More idly than the summer flies, French trail
eurs rush round;
As stubble to the lava tide, French squadron.
strew the ground,
Bomb-shell and grape, and round-shot tore, still
on they marched and fired
Fast, from each volley, grenadier and voltigeul
retired.
push on, my household cavalry" King Loui
madlY cried;
To death they rush, but rude their shock-no
unavenged they died.
On through the camp the column trod-Kits
Louis turns his rein:
"Not yet, my liege," SAKE interposed, ''the Irisl
troops remain"
And Fontenoy, famed Fontenoy, had been a
Waterloo
Were not these exiles ready then, fresh vehe
ment true.
"Lord Clare" he says, "you have your wish
there are your Saxon foes!"
The Marshal almost smiles to see, so furiousl,
he goes,
How fierce the looks these exiles wear, who'r
wont to be so gay,
The treasured wrongs of fifty years are in thci
hearts to-day.
The treaty broken, ere the ink whererith 'twa
wrote could dry,
Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines
their women's parting cry, -
Their priesthood hunted down like wolves thei
country overthrown-
Each looks as-.if revenge for all was staked OF
him alone,
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet else
where,
Rushed to fight nobler band than these prout
exiles were.
oBriens voice is hoarse with joy, as, halting, he
commands,
'Fix bayonets," "charge!" like mountain
storm rush on the fiery bands!
Thin is the English colundf now, and faint thei
volleys grow,
Yet must'ring all the strength they have, the.
make gallant show.
They dress their ranks upon the hill to face tha
battle-wind,
Their bayonets the breakers foam; like recks
the men behind!
One volley crashes fran their lines, when through
the surging smoke,
With empty gnns clutched in their hands, the
headlong Irish broke;
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy! bark to that fierct
huzza!
Revenge. remember Limerick! dash down the
Sassenach'
Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad witt
hunger's pang,
Right up against the English line the Irish ex'
lies sprang;
Bright was their steel, It's bloody now, thcil
guns are filed with gore;
Through shattered ranks, and severed files, ant
trampled flags they tore;
The English strove with desperate strength
paused, rallied, staggered, fed.
The green hill side is matted close with dying
and with dead,
Across the plain, and far away, passed on that
hideous wrack,
While cavalier and fantassin dashed in upor
their track,
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy! like eagles in tn,
sun,
With bloody plumes-the exiles stand-th'
field is fought and won!
gThc, Boston Transcript having
called for q rhyme for yelOcipede, has re