One of my favorite songs....
Meagher Is Leading the Irish Brigade
by: H. D. Marsan of New York
You, true Sons of Erin, awake from your slumbers!
The war blast is sounding o'er valley and hill;
Too long you have slept in the bed of affliction
Your moans pierce my heart, like a murmuring rill;
Your leaders were banished:
yet hope has not left you,
Though firmly bound by the Conqueror's chain.
So, draw your swords quickly, while strength has been left you,
And make one bold dash for your Freedom again!
Chorus:
You, true Sons of Erin, awake from your slumbers!
No longer leave Tyrants your valleys invade..
Let the long silent Harp vibrate its loud numbers;
Now Meagher is leading the Irish Brigade.
Oh! how can you slumber, submissively yielding,
While the Eagle of Freedom shreaks loud in the air,
And on strange battle-fields you your sabres are wielding?
No heroes or chieftain more noble are there;
On history's pages your fame is recorded;
Yet the proud Saxon traitor your green hills pollute,
And trample the flag which they should have regarded,,
So, strike for your Freedom at tyrant's root.
What monster could look upon Erin's blue mountains,
And view the gray fog looming up in the air..
Or sit, for a while, by her bright crystal fountains.
Without adding a tear of pure sympathy there?..
Or see her grand Castles with ivy surrounded,
Where now the lone cry of the night Owl is heard,
As her beautiful Rivers with echo resounded
To answer the voice of the romantic birds?..
The famed Robert Emmett by perjury smitten,
His cold blooded murder all nations could see:
Now it is time that his Epitaph should have been written,
And Erin once more be great, glorious and free;
With the worthy Mc Manus, that Patriot martyr,
Cold, cold in the grave, though their ashes remain;
Yet their spirits forewarn the time is growing shorter,
When Erin's Green Banner will float o'er the main.
Remember the siege of sweet Limerick fair city,
When Sarsfield encountered the balance of power;
And her heroic daughters, both loyal and witty,
Saluted their foes with a hot boiling shower;
Is such Patriotism so easy forgotten,
While the blood of our forefathers courses thro' our vains?
No! their glory exists, though their bones may be rotten,
To conquer our foes yet as Brian did the Danes.
