School: An Mhainistir, Malla (roll number 12519)

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1. A Song (continued)

   “Come all ye trueborn Irish lads ¶ And listen to my song...”

   

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   But Mallow's pride could e'er defy The thundering Spanish main, They cast their garments to the clouds At half-past three o'clock, And then they clashed with frightful glee, The Rakes and bold Blackrock. The rain did stop, the wind did quail Before the dreadful roar And Blarney Castle stood up straight And called to old Dromore The whistle blew, the battle raged "We are no laughing stock Ye Mallow Rakes, we'll show ye now Said the hurlers of Blackrock. Like thunderbolts from Jove's right hand Like wolves round flock of sheep Like tigers from the forest fast, Like sharks from ocean deep, They struggled for an hour or moe, And with many a bloody shock These dashing, smashing hurling men Of Mallow and Blackrock. Right gallantly did Seán Ógs band Fight on for victory's fame

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   Topics

   1. genre
      1. poetry
         1. folk poetry (~9,504)

   Language

   English