Song Of The Irish Brigade
We've never swerved from our old green flag,
Upborne o'er many a bloody plain;
'Tis now a torn and tattered rag,
But we will bear it proudly oft again.
We will raise on high, this dear old flag,
From Liffy's bank to Shannon's stream,
'Till victory o'er the pirate rag
Upon our sacred cause shall beam.
Hurrah! Hurrah! For our dear old flag.
Hurrah for our gallant leader, too;
Though 'tis a torn and tattered rag,
We would not change it for the new.
We've borne it with the Stripes and Stars,
From Fair Oaks to Frederick's bloody plain;
And see, my boys, our wounds and scars,
Can tell how well we did the same.
Be sure, our chieftain, of his race,
Was ever foremost 'mid the brave,
Where death met heroes face to face,
And gathered harvests for the grave.
We miss fully many a comrade's smile,
The grasp of many a friendly hand,
We mourn their loss, and grieve the while
They had nor died for fatherland.
Bur o'er their fresh and gory graves-
We swear it now and evermore-
To free green Erin, land of slaves,
And banish tyrants from her shore
Now we've pledged to free this land,
So long the exile's resting-place;
To crush for aye a traitorous band,
And wipe out treason's deep disgrace,
Then let us pledge Columbia's cause,
God prosper poor old Ireland, too!
We'll trample all the tyrant laws;
Hurrah for the old land and the new!