Clare's Dragoons.

Air--Viva la. I.     When, on Ramillies' bloody field,     The baffled French were forced to yield,     The victor Saxon backward reeled     Before the charge of Clare's Dragoons.     The Flags we conquered in that fray     Look lone in Ypres' choir, they say,     We'll win them company to-day,     Or bravely die like Clare's Dragoons. CHORUS.     Viva la, for Ireland's wrong!     Viva la, for Ireland's right!     Viva la, in battle throng,     For a Spanish steed, and sabre bright! II.     The brave old lord died near the fight,     But, for each drop he lost that night,     A Saxon cavalier shall bite     The dust before Lord Clare's Dragoons.     For never, when our spurs were set,     And never, when our sabres met,     Could we the Saxon soldiers get     To stand the shock of Clare's Dragoons. CHORUS.     Viva la, the New Brigade!     Viva la, the Old one, too!     Viva la, the rose shall fade,     And the shamrock shine for ever new! III.     Another Clare is here to lead,     The worthy son of such a breed;     The French expect some famous deed,     When Clare leads on his bold Dragoons.     Our Colonel comes from Brian's race,     His wounds are in his breast and face,     The bearna baoghail[1] is still his place,     The foremost of his bold Dragoons. CHORUS.     Viva la, the New Brigade!     Viva la, the Old one, too!     Viva la, the rose shall fade,     And the shamrock shine for ever new! IV.     There's not a man in squadron here     Was ever known to flinch or fear;     Though first in charge and last in rere,     Have ever been Lord Clare's Dragoons;     But see! we'll soon have work to do,     To shame our boasts, or prove them true,     For hither comes the English crew,     To sweep away Lord Clare's Dragoons. CHORUS.     Viva la, for Ireland's wrong!     Viva la, for Ireland's right!     Viva la, in battle throng,     For a Spanish steed and sabre bright! V.     Oh! comrades! think how Ireland pines,     Her exiled lords, her rifled shrines,     Her dearest hope, the ordered lines,     And bursting charge of Clare's Dragoons.     Then fling your Green Flag to the sky.     Be "Limerick" your battle-cry,     And charge, till blood floats fetlock-high,     Around the track of Clare's Dragoons! CHORUS.     Viva la, the New Brigade!     Viva la, the Old one, too!     Viva la, the rose shall fade,     And the shamrock shine for ever new!