Battle of the Boyne (1)


A kingly host upon a stream, a monarch camped around
Its southern upland far and wide, their white pavilions crowned
Not long ago that sky unclouded showed nor beneath the ray
That gentle stream in silver flowed to meet the new-born day

Peals the loud gun; its thunders boom, the echoing vales along
While curtained in its sulfurous boom moves on the gallant thrown
And foot and horse in mingled mass, regardless all of life
With furious ardor onward pass to join the deadly strife

Not strange that with such ardent flame each glowing heart beats high
Their battle-word was William’s name and Death and Liberty
Then Ould bridge then, they peaceful bowers with sounds unwonted rang,
And Tredagh, mid thy distant towers was heard the mighty clang

The silver stream is crimsoned wide and clogged with many a corpse
As floating down its gentle tide co-mingled man and horse
Now fiercer grows the battle’s rage, the guarded stream is crossed
And furious, hand-to-hand engage each bold contending host

He falls; the veteran hero falls, renowned along the Rhine
And he whose name, while Derry’s walls endure shall brightly shine
Oh, would to heaven that churchman bold, his arms with triumph blest
The soldier spirit had controlled that fired his pious breast

And he, the chief of yonder brave and persecuted band
Who foremost rushed amid the wave and gained the hostile strand
He bleeds, brave Caillemonte; he bleeds, ’tis closed, his bright career
Yet still, that band to glorious deeds, his dying accents cheer

And now that well-contested strand, successive columns gain
While backward James yielding band are borne across the plain
In vain, the sword green Erin draws, and life away doth fling
Oh, worthy of a better cause and of a bolder king

In vain, thy bearing bold is shown upon that blood-stained ground
Thy towering hopes are overthrown, thy choicest fall around
Nor shamed abandon thou the fray, nor blush though conquered there
A power against thee fights today, no mortal arm may dare

Hurrah, hurrah, for liberty, for her sword we draw
And dared the battle while on high our Orange banners flew
Woe worth the hour, worth the state, when men shall cease to join
With grateful hearts to celebrate the glories of the Boyne


Song Clip