Song Of The Battle Eve.

TIME--THE NINTH CENTURY.     To-morrow, comrade, we     On the battle-plain must be,         There to conquer, or both lie low!     The morning star is up,--     But there's wine still in the cup,         And we'll take another quaff, ere we go, boy, go;         We'll take another quaff, ere we go.     'Tis true, in manliest eyes     A passing tear will rise,         When we think of the friends we leave lone;     But what can wailing do?     See, our goblet's weeping too!         With its tears we'll chase away our own, boy, our own;         With its tears we'll chase away our own.     But daylight's stealing on;--     The last that o'er us shone         Saw our children around us play;     The next--ah! where shall we     And those rosy urchins be?         But--no matter--grasp thy sword and away, boy, away;         No matter--grasp thy sword and away!     Let those, who brook the chain     Of Saxon or of Dane,         Ignobly by their firesides stay;     One sigh to home be given,     One heartfelt prayer to heaven,         Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra! hurra! hurra!         Then, for Erin and her cause, hurra!