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Thomas Moore - Song of the Battle Eve
Work rating: Low

(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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