The Clare Election Poem by John Banim

[Note: Air--``The Boyne Water.'']

July the first, in Ennis town,
There was a glorious battle,
Though not a man did there go down,
Nor not a cannon rattle;
And yet 'twas strength and courage, too,
That put them to the rout, boys--
The courage to be blunt and true,
And for ourselves speak out, boys.

Before that day, they used to say
That we could make no fight, boys,
Unless the pike did clear our way--
And, faith, we thought them right, boys;
But we and they were both astray,
For, under new--found guides, boys,
Without the pike we fought that day--
And we won the fight, besides, boys.

Before that day, they used to say
That cratures in frieze coats, boys,
Were only fit to screech ``Hurra!''
Whoever ask'd their votes, boys;
Although ould Ireland's precious tears,
Rebuking them, did drop, boys,
And her mild cross, uprear'd through years,
Did wave to bid them stop, boys.

But now we wonder what they'll say
When their mistake they see, boys,
And reckon, from that well--won day,
That their serfs no more we'll be, boys--
That we can take a manful part,
For cross and country both, boys--
That the frieze may wrap a manful heart,
As well as finer cloth, boys!

Before that day, they used to say,
That when we ought to think, boys,
For what we screech'd our votes away,
We could n't--for the drink, boys:
But, though the sun came strong that day,
And almost scorch'd us up, boys,
We waited to ``give them their tey,''
Afore we took a sup, boys!

Ould friends of ours were there, that day,
With the steel for all our throats, boys,
But from the raps we turn'd away,
To beat them--with our votes, boys;
And the sojer--chaps, both red and blue,
With their cannon, they drew near, boys--
But, red and blue, we bet them, too,
With just one Irish cheer, boys!

Och! 'twas a sight worth looking at!
Their caps and feathers tall, boys,
An army come to kill poor Pat,
With gun, and soord, and all, boys--
And then to see how one strong thought,
And one good blast of breath, boys,
To nothing all their grandeur brought--
These sons of fire and death, boys!

Ay! as that parting cheer we cheer'd
To send them to their beds, boys,
And as their open files we clear'd
With Dan above our heads, boys--
Who then was strong? The sojer grand,
A hireling for his pay, boys,
Or we, the tillers of God's land,
Unarm'd, but free, that day, boys!

A glorious battle, fought and won,
By heads and hearts--not hands, boys--
Yet worth the whole that we have done
With all our nightly bands, boys--
And it has shown us there's more strength
In Union, wise and cool, boys,
Than in a pike, a mile in length,
And a giant that's a fool, boys.

Ould Shamus fought another fight,
On the first day of July, boys,
And his field show'd another sight,
When from it he did fly, boys--
For there lay Ireland's loyal youth,
Too stiff to run away, boys,
And, what was worse--to tell God's truth--
Ould Shamus lost the day, boys.

But, ``July the first,'' it comes about
Again, and 'tis our own, boys!
Without a drop of blood, without
One widow's sigh or groan, boys!
So, hurra! hurra! and let us pray
For all our future fights, boys,
Bloodless, though bould, like this, to--day,
For all our future rights, boys.