X.
In the cloisters of Ypres a banner is swaying, And by it a pale, weeping maiden is praying; That flag"s the sole trophy of Ramillies" fray; This nun is poor Eily, the Flower of Finae.
--------------------------------------------------------------- [80] Shule aroon.
CLARE"S DRAGOONS.
AIR--_Viva la_.
I.
When, on Ramillies" b.l.o.o.d.y field, The baffled French were forced to yield, The victor Saxon backward reeled Before the charge of Clare"s Dragoons.
The Flags we conquered in that fray Look lone in Ypres" choir, they say, We"ll win them company to-day, Or bravely die like Clare"s Dragoons.
CHORUS.
_Viva la_, for Ireland"s wrong!
_Viva la_, for Ireland"s right!
_Viva la_, in battle throng, For a Spanish steed, and sabre bright!
II.
The brave old lord died near the fight, But, for each drop he lost that night, A Saxon cavalier shall bite The dust before Lord Clare"s Dragoons.
For never, when our spurs were set, And never, when our sabres met, Could we the Saxon soldiers get To stand the shock of Clare"s Dragoons.
CHORUS.
_Viva la_, the New Brigade!
_Viva la_, the Old one, too!
_Viva la_, the rose shall fade, And the shamrock shine for ever new!
III.
Another Clare is here to lead, The worthy son of such a breed; The French expect some famous deed, When Clare leads on his bold Dragoons.
Our Colonel comes from Brian"s race, His wounds are in his breast and face, The _bearna baoghail_[81] is still his place, The foremost of his bold Dragoons.
CHORUS.
_Viva la_, the New Brigade!
_Viva la_, the Old one, too!
_Viva la_, the rose shall fade, And the shamrock shine for ever new!
IV.
There"s not a man in squadron here Was ever known to flinch or fear; Though first in charge and last in rere, Have ever been Lord Clare"s Dragoons; But see! we"ll soon have work to do, To shame our boasts, or prove them true, For hither comes the English crew, To sweep away Lord Clare"s Dragoons.
CHORUS.
_Viva la_, for Ireland"s wrong!
_Viva la_, for Ireland"s right!
_Viva la_, in battle throng, For a Spanish steed and sabre bright!
V.
Oh! comrades! think how Ireland pines, Her exiled lords, her rifled shrines, Her dearest hope, the ordered lines, And bursting charge of Clare"s Dragoons.
Then fling your Green Flag to the sky.
Be "Limerick" your battle-cry, And charge, till blood floats fetlock-high, Around the track of Clare"s Dragoons!
CHORUS.
_Viva la_, the New Brigade!
_Viva la_, the Old one, too!
_Viva la_, the rose shall fade, And the shamrock shine for ever new!
--------------------------------------------------------------- [81] Gap of danger.
THE BATTLE EVE OF THE BRIGADE.
AIR--_Contented I am_.
I.
The mess-tent is full, and the gla.s.ses are set, And the gallant Count Th.o.m.ond is president yet; The veteran stands, like an uplifted lance, Crying--"Comrades, a health to the monarch of France!"
With b.u.mpers and cheers they have done as he bade, For King Louis is loved by the Irish Brigade.
II.
"A health to King James," and they bent as they quaffed, "Here"s to George the _Elector_," and fiercely they laughed, "Good luck to the girls we wooed long ago, Where Shannon and Barrow and Blackwater flow;"
"G.o.d prosper Old Ireland,"--you"d think them afraid, So pale grew the chiefs of the Irish Brigade.