The Irish soldier, cast for fight, <br />Stood to his arms at dead of night, <br />Watching the east, until its ray <br />To the battle--field should show his way;-- <br />Soldier, soldier, soldier brave, <br />You will fight though they call you slave, <br />And though you but help a bandit hand <br />Uncheck'd to kill in your native land. <br /> <br />The soldier thought on his chance of doom-- <br />How the trampled sod might be his tomb-- <br />How, in evening's dusk, his sightless stare <br />To the small pale stars might upward glare;-- <br />Soldier, soldier, soldier brave, <br />You will fight though you think of the grave-- <br />Though it yawn so near you, black and chill, <br />Honor and courage man you still. <br /> <br />And o'er his solemn brow he made <br />The Christian sign, and humbly said-- <br />``Your prayers, good saints, if I should fall; <br />And for mercy, O Lord, on you I call!''-- <br />Irish soldier, soldier brave, <br />You will fight, although you crave <br />The prayers of the saints your own to aid, <br />And the sign of the cross on your brow have made. <br /> <br />The morning broke--the bugle blew-- <br />The voice of command the soldier knew, <br />And stern and straight in the van he stood, <br />And shouting, he rush'd to the work of blood;-- <br />Irish soldier, soldier bold, <br />Thousands lay round you, crimson'd and cold-- <br />But over their bodies you still fought on, <br />Till down you sank as the day was won. <br /> <br />And the Irish soldier now hath come, <br />Worn, and wounded, and crippled, home, <br />The hated, and slander'd, and scorn'd of those <br />Who safely slept while he faced their foes;-- <br />Irish soldier, soldier bold, <br />In your native land you now are told <br />'Twas traitor--blood on that field you lost, <br />For you call'd on the saints, and your brow you cross'd!<br /><br />John Banim<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-irish-soldier/
