Classic Poem

AIR — Contented I am .

I.

The mess-tent is full, and the glasses are set,
And the gallant Count Thomond is president yet;
The vet'ran arose, like an uplifted lance,
Crying — " Comrades, a health to the monarch of France! "
With bumpers 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; "
" God prosper Old Ireland, " — you'd think them afraid,
So pale grew the chiefs of The Irish Brigade.

III.

" But, surely, that light cannot come from our lamp?
And that noise — are they all getting drunk in the camp? "
" Hurrah! boys, the morning of battle is come,
And the generale's beating on many a drum. "
So they rush from the revel to join the parade;
For the van is the right of The Irish Brigade.

IV.

They fought as they revelled, fast, fiery, and true,
And, though victors, they left on the field not a few;
And they, who survived, fought and drank as of yore,
But the land of their heart's hope they never saw more;
For in far foreign fields, from Dunkirk to Belgrade,
Lie the soldiers and chiefs of The Irish Brigade.