 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
LOYAL IRELAND.
Comrades were we tried in dangers,
Under Arctic skies and blue,
Not when bugle sounded strangers,
Not where bullets sang untrue;
Trouble only made us bolder,
Tost about by wind and wave,
Fought we shoulder unto shoulder,
Fell in one red soldier's grave;
Forward conquering sent us Duty,
Breathing one undaunted vow,
Scars bequeathe us the same beauty,—
Why disown true Ireland now?
Under Arctic skies and blue,
Not when bugle sounded strangers,
Not where bullets sang untrue;
Trouble only made us bolder,
Tost about by wind and wave,
Fought we shoulder unto shoulder,
Fell in one red soldier's grave;
Forward conquering sent us Duty,
Breathing one undaunted vow,
Scars bequeathe us the same beauty,—
Why disown true Ireland now?
When the bloody fray was ended,
Halting by the same camp fire,
We each other's wants have tended,
One in all things our desire;
Bound each other's wounds, and brightly
Sinking hearts with hope raised up,
Borne each other's burdens lightly,
Shared a common plate and cup;
Still to feast and fight we started,
With the same rejoicing brow,
Nothing then our friendship parted;—
Why forget true Ireland now?
Halting by the same camp fire,
We each other's wants have tended,
One in all things our desire;
Bound each other's wounds, and brightly
Sinking hearts with hope raised up,
Borne each other's burdens lightly,
Shared a common plate and cup;
Still to feast and fight we started,
With the same rejoicing brow,
Nothing then our friendship parted;—
Why forget true Ireland now?
65
Stirring times and stormy weather
Known have we, upon the flood,
Famous fields, we rode together,
Poured alike our brother blood;
One alone our glorious quarrel,
Filled by common martial thirst,
Which should win the fairest laurel,
Which the enemy strike first;
One our fear—the foe's retreating,
Ere attack, we cared not how,
We who recked of no defeating;—
Why betray true Ireland now?
Known have we, upon the flood,
Famous fields, we rode together,
Poured alike our brother blood;
One alone our glorious quarrel,
Filled by common martial thirst,
Which should win the fairest laurel,
Which the enemy strike first;
One our fear—the foe's retreating,
Ere attack, we cared not how,
We who recked of no defeating;—
Why betray true Ireland now?
Ah, these lives have shone out loyal,
Oft in England's utter need,
Oft again at bidding Royal,
Gladly would our Ireland bleed;
Now when men are nigh to perish,
Stript of every store but trust,
Now will honour fail to cherish
Comrades, proved so brave and just?
Men whose one sin is obedience,
Love of law whereto they bow,—
Must they starve for mere expedience?
Why desert true Ireland now?
Oft in England's utter need,
Oft again at bidding Royal,
Gladly would our Ireland bleed;
Now when men are nigh to perish,
Stript of every store but trust,
Now will honour fail to cherish
Comrades, proved so brave and just?
Men whose one sin is obedience,
Love of law whereto they bow,—
Must they starve for mere expedience?
Why desert true Ireland now?
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |