THE FORLORN HOPE.
A SONG OF THE IRISH BRIGADE.
Air—"Cruisgin lán."
I.
Let us lift the green flag high
Underneath this foreign sky,
Unrol the verdant volume to the wind.
As we hasten to the fight
Let us drink a last good night
To the beauty which we leave, boy, behind, behind, behind;
To the beauty which we leave, boy, behind.
II.
Plant it high upon the breach,
And within the flag-staff's reach;
We'll offer it the tribute of our gore.
Yes! on that altar high,
'Spite of tyrants we can die,
And our spirits to the saints above may soar, soar, soar;
And our spirits to the saints above may soar.
III.
Liberty is gone,
Now 'tis glory leads us on,
And spangles gloomy slavery's night;
If freedom's shattered bark
Have not foundered i' the dark
Her wreck must see this beacon bright, bright, bright;
Her wreck will see this beacon bright.
IV.
Yes; glory's shining light
Must irradiate the night,
And renew the flaming splendour of the day!
And freedom's sinking crew
Shall recover hope anew,
And hail the blazing splendour of this ray, ray, ray;
And hail the blazing splendour of this ray.
