"Sad, yes, especially if you\'ve seen what chainshot can do to a man. Seen it tear through the middle of a sailor and not pause for so much as \'how-do-you\' \'fore it tore down the ship\'s mast, too." She shook, her, head, till grinning, however, and fitted the fidle under her chin, noting that the fleece chinrest was still warm, with some satisfaction, "Ah, I\'ve got a song with horses, lad. They\'re mostly dead, but the bloodier the better, right?" She grinned deviously at the darker man, and before he could answer, she began the song.
It was a rousing tune, designed to make the blood boil with pride. A mascline tune, somehow wrong – but so right – in the capable hands of the curvaceous bard. She sang, and her voice growled and boomed over the words, hardly recognizable as the soft, sombre instrument of just a few moments before.
"A kingly host upon a stream,
a monarch camped around
Its southern upland far and wide
their white pavilions crowned;
Not long ago that sky unclouded showed,
nor beneath the ray,
That gentle stream in silver flowed
to meet the new-born day.
Peals the horn its thunders boom
the echoing vales along
While curtained in its sulfurous boom
moves on the gallant thrown.
And Foot and Horse in mingled mass,
regardless all of life,
With furious ardor onward pass
to join the deadly strife.
Not strange that with such ardent flame
each glowing heart beats high,
Their battle-word was William\'s name
and Death and Liberty!
Then Ouldbridge, then they peaceful bowers
with sounds unwonted rang,
And Tredagh, mid thy distant towers,
was heard the mighty clang.
The silver stream is crimsoned wide
and clogged with many a corpse,
As floating down its gentle tide
co- mingled man and horse;
Now fiercer grows the battle\'s rage,
the guarded stream is crossed,
And furious, hand-to-hand,
engage each bold contending host.
He falls-the veteran hero falls,
renowned along the Rhine-
And he whose name, while Derry s walls
endure shall brightly shine;
Oh! would to heaven that churchman bold,
his arms with triumph blest,
The soldier spirit had controlled
that fired his pious breast.
And he, the chief of yonder brave
and persecuted band,
Who foremost rushed amid the wave
and gained the hostile strand,
He bleeds, brave Caillemonte-he bleeds
-tis closed, his bright career,
Yet still that band to glorious deeds
his dying accents cheer,
And now that well-contested strand
successive columns gain,
While backward James yielding band
are borne across the plain;
In vain the sword green Erin draws,
and life away doth fling-
Oh! worthy of a better cause
and of a bolder king.
In vain thy bearing bold is shown
upon that blood-stained ground;
Thy towering hopes are overthrown,
thy choicest fall around;
Nor, shamed abandon thou the fray,
nor blush though conquered there;
A power against thee fights today
no mortal arm may dare.
Hurrah! Hurrah! For Liberty,
for her sword we draw,
And dared the battle while on high
our Orange banners flew.
Woe worth the hour- worth the state,
when men shall cease to join
Wit grateful hearts to celebrate
the glories of the Boyne!"
She took the fiddle from her chin once more and laid it in her lap, smoothing her callused hands along it\'s worn surface, then tapping out a jaunty rythm with her fingertips, "Enough horses?" she asked, grin still firmly in it\'s place.
