He grasped the ponderous hammer, he could not stand it more,
To hear the bomb-shells bursting, and thundering battle’s roar;
He said, “The breach they’re mounting, the Dutchman’s murdering crew—
I’ll try my hammer on their heads, and see what that can do!
“Now, swarthy Ned and Moran, make up that iron well;
’Tis Sarsfield’s horse that wants the shoes, so mind not shot or shell;”
“Ah, sure,” cried both, “the horse can wait, for Sarsfield’s on the wall
And where you go we’ll follow, with you to stand or fall!”
The blacksmith raised his hammer, and rushed into the street,
His ’prentice boys behind him, the ruthless foe to meet;—