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!

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