The next that topped the rampart, he was a colonel bold;
Bright, through the dust of battle, his helmet flashed with gold—
“Gold is no match for iron,” the doughty blacksmith said,
And with that ponderous hammer he cracked his foeman’s head.
“Hurrah for gallant Limerick!” black Ned and Moran cried,
As on the Dutchmen’s leaden heads their hammers well they plied;
A bomb-shell burst between them—one fell without a groan,
One leaped into the lurid air, and down the breach was thrown.
“Brave smith! brave smith!” cried Sarsfield, “beware the treacherous mine!
Brave smith! brave smith! fall backward, or surely death is thine!”