The Orange Ulster Tales

 

General Prologue

When June’s gentle rains pierce the drought

Of May right to the root, and bathe each sprout

With bigotry of such power

That it brings forth the Orange sour;

When bands with  loud drums blare

Through  roads and streets,  fanfare

For  followers and  Loyal families,

And flutes make sectarian melodies

And bonfires blaze all night, mouths open as can be

To cheer as flames on Taig flags dart,

On Marches then Ulster folks desire to start.

The Loyal Orders long to march miles and miles

Through town and city streets renowned in sundry lands;

And specially, from every county’s end

Ulster feet  to the Field they wend:

To rejoice in “Protestantism” is their will,

To walkover Catholics is their skill.