Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/125

Rh Then comes a brief lull, and the smoke-pall is lifted,
 * The green of the hillside no longer is seen;

The dead soldiers lie as the sea-weed is drifted,
 * The earthworks still held by the badges of green.

Have they quailed? is the word. No: again they are forming—
 * Again comes a column to death and defeat!

What is it in these who shall now do the storming
 * That makes every Georgian spring to his feet?

"O God! what a pity!" they cry in their cover,
 * As rifles are readied and bayonets made tight;

"'Tis Meagher and his fellows! their caps have green clover;
 * 'Tis Greek to Greek now for the rest of the fight!"

Twelve hundred the column, their rent flag before them.
 * With Meagher at their head, they have dashed at the hill!