Requiem for croppies.
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The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley...No kitchens on the run, no striking camp...We moved quick and sudden in our own country.The priest lay behind ditches with the tramp.A people hardly marching... on the hike...We found new tactics happening each day: We'd cut through reins and rider with the pikeAnd stampede cattle into infantry, Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.Until... on Vinegar Hill... the final conclave.Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.They buried us without shroud or coffinAnd in August... the barley grew up out of our grave.
Repetition of the word “no” to emphasis how much the croppies went without
Tone: shock of having to hide in their ‘own’ country
Priest usually a member of society with high respect and tramp on the opposite end of spectrum.
Change in pace and tone: tone slows down and tone becomes moody to emphasise the sad fate of the croppies
Imagery: “waves” of croppies running into battle, and as they die their blood “soaks” into the hillside, which “blushes” with the overwhelming deaths.
Personification of hillside emphasis of the blood shed that occurred
Cycle of nationalist fight.