Cremona

His sword was in its sheath;
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down

With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes!

And mingle with our cup

The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound,
And she may float again,

Full charged with England's thunder,
And plough the distant main.

But Kempenfelt is gone,

His victories are o'er;

And he and his eight hundred

Shall plough the wave no more.

2369

William Cowper [1731-1800]

CREMONA

[FEBRUARY 1, 1792]

THE Grenadiers of Austria are proper men and tall;
The Grenadiers of Austria have scaled the city wall;
They have marched from far away

Ere the dawning of the day,

And the morning saw them masters of Cremona.

There's not a man to whisper, there's not a horse to neigh, Of the footmen of Lorraine and the riders of Duprés; They have crept up every street,

In the market-place they meet,

They are holding every vantage in Cremona.

The Marshal Villeroy he has started from his bed; The Marshal Villeroy has no wig upon his head; "I have lost my men!" quoth he,

"And my men they have lost me,

And I sorely fear we both have lost Cremona."

Prince Eugène of Austria is in the market-place;
Prince Eugène of Austria has smiles upon his face;
Says he, "Our work is done,

For the Citadel is won,

And the black and yellow flag floats o'er Cremona."

Major Dan O'Mahony is in the barrack square,
And just six hundred Irish lads are waiting for him there;

Says he, "Come in your shirt,

And you won't take any hurt,

For the morning air is pleasant in Cremona."

Major Dan O'Mahony is at the barrack gate,

And just six hundred Irish lads will neither stay nor wait; There's Dillon and there's Burke,

And there'll be some bloody work

Ere the Kaiserlics shall boast they hold Cremona.

Major Dan O'Mahony has reached the river fort,
And just six hundred Irish lads are joining in the sport;
"Come, take a hand!" says he,

66

'And if you will stand by me,

Then it's glory to the man who takes Cremona!"

Prince Eugène of Austria has frowns upon his face,
And loud he calls his Galloper of Irish blood and race:
"MacDonnell, ride, I pray,

To your countrymen, and say
That only they are left in all Cremona!"

MacDonnell he has reined his mare beside the river dike, And he has tied the parley flag upon a sergeant's pike; Six companies were there

From Limerick and Clare,

The last of all the guardians of Cremona.

"Now, Major Dan O'Mahony, give up the river gate, Or, Major Dan O'Mahony, you'll find it is too late; For when I gallop back

'Tis the signal for attack,

And no quarter for the Irish in Cremona!"

Cremona

2371

And Major Dan he laughed: "Faith, if what you say be true, And if they will not come until they hear again from you,

Then there will be no attack,

For you're never going back,

And we'll keep you snug and safely in Cremona."

All the weary day the German stormers came,
All the weary day they were faced by fire and flame;
They have filled the ditch with dead,

And the river's running red,

But they cannot win the gateway of Cremona.

All the weary day, again, again, again,

The horsemen of Duprés and the footmen of Lorraine,
Taafe and Herberstein,

And the riders of the Rhine;

It's a mighty price they're paying for Cremona.

Time and time they came with the deep-mouthed German

roar,

Time and time they broke like the wave upon the shore;

For better men were there

From Limerick and Clare,

And who will take the gateway of Cremona?

Prince Eugène has watched, and he gnaws his nether lip; Prince Eugène has cursed as he saw his chances slip:

"Call off! Call off!" he cried,

"It is nearing eventide,

And I fear our work is finished in Cremona."

Says Wauchop to McAuliffe, “Their fire is growing slack.” Says Major Dan O'Mahony, "It is their last attack;

But who will stop the game

While there's light to play the same,

And to walk a short way with them from Cremona?"

And so they snarl behind them, and beg them turn and come, They have taken Neuberg's standard, they have taken

Diak's drum;

And along the winding Po,

Beard on shoulder, stern and slow,

The Kaiserlics are riding from Cremona.

Just two hundred Irish lads are shouting on the wall;
Four hundred more are lying who can hear no slogan call;
But what's the odds of that,

For it's all the same to Pat

If he pays his debt in Dublin or Cremona.

Says General de Vaudray, "You've done a soldier's work! And every tongue in France shall talk of Dillon and of Burke!

Ask what you will this day,

And be it what it may,

It is granted to the heroes of Cremona."

"Why, then," says Dan O'Mahony, "one favor we entreat, We were called a little early, and our toilet's not complete. We've no quarrel with the shirt,

But the breeches wouldn't hurt,

For the evening air is chilly in Cremona."

Arthur Conan Doyle [1859

CASABIANCA

[BATTLE OF THE NILE, AUGUST, 1798)

THE boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;

The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;

A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on; he would not go
Without his father's word;

That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

Hohenlinden

He called aloud, "Say, father, say,
If yet my task be done!"

He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried,
"If I may yet be gone!"

And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,

And looked from that lone post of death

In still, yet brave despair;

And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father! must I stay?"

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While o'er him, fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapped the ship in splendor wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And streamed above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound;
The boy, oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around
With fragments strewed the sea,-

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part,—
But the noblest thing that perished there,
Was that young, faithful heart.

Felicia Dorothea Hemans [1793-1835]

HOHENLINDEN

[DECEMBER 3, 1800]

ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;

And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.