With muffled drums and arms reversed,
With solemn step and slow,
Behold you mournful train immersed
In bitter tears of woe.
For Douglas and his gallant crew
Of warriors so brave,
Who ‘scap’d the fight of Waterloo,
Have found a watery grave.
Tramore- thy billows murm’ring hoarse,
A wretched sight unfold,
Each wave throws up a livid corpse,
As marble pale and cold.
A scanty few survivors stand,
With anxious tearful eyes,
Surveying thy deceitful strand,
And billows as they rise.
E’en now, a wife or child from far,
Comes driving to thy shore,
Or now a hero seamed with scars,
Beats on thy rocks, Tramore.
Insatiate death, thy fury stay,
Nor greedy crave for more,
Remember, ah; the hapless day-
The wreck within Tramore
Simondes.
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