The Night we Rode with Sarsfield by Denis McCarthy

Followers of the page will know about the interest I have in the incident known in folklore as "Sarsfields Ride". 

For more information you can follow the storymap I created about it here

I previously came across a few different songs relating to the event including this one in the Irish Folklore Commission's Schools Manuscripts. 

This one is interestingly from a school in Galway

"I

The night I rode with Sarsfield
From Limerick town to meet,
The wagon train that William hoped,
Was help in our defeat.
II
How clearly I remember it,

Though now my hair is white
That clustered black and curly
'Neath the troopers cap that night.
III
For I was one of Sarsfield's men,
In years though still a lad
For to be one of Sarsfield's men
What boy would not be glad.
IV
For Sarsfield choosed of all his men
The best and bravest men
To ride and raid the convoy camps
That brought in English guns
V
Silently we left the town,
And silently we rode,

While o'er iur heads the silent stars,
In; silvery beauty glowed.
VI
Still silently and stealthly,
At Sarsfields stern command
We close and closer drew the lines
Of our devoted land.
VII
You shall not fail my comrades
It was Sarsfield's voice that spoke,
For Limericks and Ireland's fate,
Depends upon this stroke.
VIII
The password of the Williamites
Is Sarsfield; strange but true
And with that word upon your lips!,

You'll pass the sentry through
IX
The sleeping sentry on his rounds
Pehaps was musing o'er,
Of His happy days of childhood
On the plesant English shore.
X
Perhaps he was thining of his home,
or wishing he was there;
When springtime makes the English land,
So wonderfully and fair.
XI
At length the horses hoop-beat [?]
and jingling arms he heard,
Half, who goes there the sentry cried,
Repause and give the word.

XII
The word is Sarsfield cried; our chief
and stop him if you can

For Sarsfield in the watch-word and Sarsfield is the man." 

https://www.duchas.ie/en/cbes/4569055/4567302/4574420

Now it is one thing to read it but another to hear it and a version similar to it is available to listen to hear - sung by Gavin Byrne and I think it is absolutely excellent. 

https://soundcloud.com/user-588840438-295908759/the-night-we-rode-with-sarsfield-gavin-byrne

The words of this version are available here 

https://mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=61697

And it is credited to a Denis McCarthy. 

THE NIGHT WE RODE WITH SARSFIELD
by Denis A. McCarthy

The night we rode with Sarsfield out from Limerick to meet
The wagon-train that William hoped would help in our defeat,
How clearly I remember it, though now my hair is white
That clustered black and curly 'neath my trooper's cap that night.
For I was one of Sarsfield's men, in years though still a lad,
And to be one of Sarsfield's men what boy would not be glad?
For Sarsfield chose, of all his troops, the best and bravest ones
To ride and raid the convoy's camp that brought the English guns.

'Twas silently we left the town and silently we rode,
While o'er our heads the silent stars in silver beauty glowed.
And silently and stealthily, well led by one who knew,
We crossed the shining Shannon at the ford of Killaloe.
The Galloping O'Hogan, Ireland's fiery-hearted son,
'Twas he, by many a byway, led us confidently on,
Till when the night was nearly spent we saw the distant glow
The English convoy's campfire in the quiet vale below.

Still Silently and stealthily, at Sarsfield's stern command
We close and closer drew the lines of our devoted band.
"We must not fail, my comrades." That was Sarsfield's voice that spoke.
"For Limerick and Ireland's fate depend upon this stroke.
The password of the Williamites is Sarsfield, strange but true,
And with that word upon our lips, we'll pass the sentries through.
Then when you hear my voice upraised, charge boldly, one an all,
No cannon from this convoy e'er must bark at Limerick's wall."

The sleepy sentry, on his rounds, perhaps was musing o'er
His happy days of childhood on the pleasant English shore.
Perhaps was thinking of this home and wishing he were there,
When springtime makes the English land so wonderfully fair.
At last our horses' hoof-beats and our jingling arms he heard.
"Halt! Who goes there?" the sentry cried: "Advance and give the word."
"The word is Sarsfield," cried our chief. "And stop us he who can.
For Sarsfield is the word tonight, And Sarsfield is the man."

One bursting cheer, one headlong charge, and sabres bright and keen
Are hacking at the foeman's heads where'er a head is seen.
The colonel leaves his wig behind, bestrides a horse and flies
To tell of Sarsfield's daring and the convoy camp's surprise.
We make a pile of captured guns and powder-bags and stores,
Then skyward in one flaming blast the great explosion roars.
And then we sang, as back we rode, with Sarsfield in the van:
"Ho! Sarsfield is the word tonight and Sarsfield is the man."

The night we rode with Sarsfield, I shall always hold it dear,
Though he is dead on Landen Plain, this many and many a year.
Though he is dead and I am old, my hair all silver white
That clustered black and curly 'neath my trooper's cap that night.
For I was one of Sarsfield's men, while yet a boy in years,
I rode as one of Sarsfield's men and men were my compeers.
They're dead, the most of them, afar, yet they were Ireland's sons
Who saved the walls of Limerick from the might of English guns.