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Black demons are rampant. They insultingly head underfoot, tyhe remaind of our time honored dead. But a cry of Stern venegeance is heard from the town and the war cry of Scotland! now heralds their doom.
Ny Neill the undaunted and Havelock bet.
The Gaels still advance over heaps of the dead
Each day a fresh triumph encircles their fence
'Mong warriors mighty, enrolled be their name.
They had not the sun in his chariot of fire
nor plaague rain or darkness can stifle their ire
for Albions daughters, now heave their last sigh
While our war pipes proclaim their deliverance nigh
But alas vain deeds here were done
And against twofold odds daily triumps have won
For the tender and aged he butchered in gore
By Hell's sable legions let let loose againt Cawnpore
From the Corpse of a maiden late blooming and fair
our heroes have gathered a last lock of hair
Tis to nerve them to vengeance agaisnt a false race
and in veins of blood to wash out our disgrace.
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