'The Cross swings low; the morn is near--
Now, comrades, fill up high;
The cannon's voice will ring out clear
When morning lights the sky.
A toast we'll drink together, boys,
Ere dawns the battle's grey,
A toast to Ireland, dear old Ireland!
Ireland far away!
Ireland far away! Ireland far away!
Health to Ireland, strength to Ireland!
Ireland, boys, hurrah!
'Who told us that her cause was dead?
Who bade us bend the knee?
The slaves! Again she lifts her head--
Again she dares be free!
With gun in hand, we take our stand,
For Ireland in the fray:
We fight for Ireland, dear old Ireland!
Ireland far away!
Ireland far away! Ireland far away!
We fight for Ireland, die for Ireland--
Ireland, boys, hurrah!
'Oh, mother of the wounded breast!
Oh, mother of the tears!
The sons you loved, and trusted best,
Have grasped their battle spears.
From Shannon, Lagan, Liffey, Lee,
On Afric's soil to-day,
We strike for Ireland, brave old Ireland!
Ireland far away!
Ireland far away! Ireland far away!
We smite for Ireland, brave old Ireland!
Ireland, boys, hurrah!'
'The Irish Boy,' which is sung to the air of 'The Minstrel Boy,' is also
in honour of the Irish Brigade:--
'While the Irish boy is on the shore,
He'll help to crush the stranger;
He'll sweep them hence for evermore,
And free thy land from danger.
And then he'll pray to God above,
That his courage ne'er shall falter,
To guard him to the land he loves--
To Ireland o'er the water.'
Mayo is the county to which John MacBride, the leader of the Irish
Brigade, belongs; but I heard of a ballad-singer at Ballindereen, near
my Galway home, the other day, whose refrain was:--
'And Erin watches from afar, with joy and hope and pride,
Her sons who strike for liberty, led on by John MacBride!'
At Galway Railway Station, whence the Connaught Rangers set out for the
war, I have heard that wives, saying good-bye, begged their husbands
'not to be too hard on the Boers.' Anyhow, a 'Mother's lament for her
son gone to the war,' that was sung at Galway Races the other day, shows
more impartiality than most of the ballads:--
'When the battle rages fiercely, our boys are in the van;
How I do wish the blows they struck were for dear Ireland!
But duty calls, they must obey, and fight against the Boer,
And many a cheerful Irish lad will fall to rise no more.
'I wish my boy was home again! Oh! how I'd welcome him,
With sorrow I'm broken-hearted, my eyes are growing dim;
The war is dark and cruel, but whoever wins the fight,
I pray to save my noble lad, and God defend the right!'
But it is the small farmers of Ireland who look with special sympathy on
their fellows in the Transvaal. They give them a warning:--
'England sends her grabbers,
From far across the sea,
To rob you of your friends and home,
Likewise your liberty.'