Song Of The Battle Eve
by Thomas Moore
Time -- The Ninth Century.
To-morrow, comrade, we
On the battle-plain must be,
There to conquer, or both lie low!
The morning star is up,
But there's wine still in the cup,
And we'll take another quaff, ere we go, boy, go;
We'll take another quaff, ere we go.
'Tis true, in manliest eyes
A passing tear will rise,
When we think of the friends we leave lone;
But what can wailing do?
See, our goblet's weeping too!
With its tears we'll chase away our own, boy, our own;
With its tears we'll chase away our own.
But daylight's stealing on --
The last that o'er us shone
Saw our children around us play;
The next -- ah! where shall we
And those rosy urchins be?
But -- no matter -- grasp thy sword and away! boy, away;
No matter -- grasp thy sword and away!
Let those who brook the chain
Of Saxon or of Dane,
Ignobly by their fire-sides stay;
One sigh to home be given,
One heartfelt prayer to heaven.
Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra! hurra! hurra!
Then, for Erin and her cause, hurra!
Source:The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore.
Copyright undated, very old
The Walter Scott Publishing Co. Ltd.