Song of the Battle Eve

(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!