‘Lord Claire,’ he said, ‘you have your wish; there are your Saxon foes!’
The Marshal almost smiles to see, so furiously 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.
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere,
Rushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles were.
*********
“Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger’s pang,
Right up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang;
Bright was their steel, ’tis bloody now, their guns are filled with gore;