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| ’T WAS in that sad and woful year | |
| Of war and famine, death and fear, | |
| When Ireland lowered her banner spear | |
| On Limerick’s turrets hoary, | |
| We took to ship and sailed the sea | 5 |
| Unto the shore of Normandie, | |
| And then once more our banner free | |
| Flashed to the ray | |
| In many a fray, | |
| And victor saw that bloody day | 10 |
| When Sarsfield died in glory! | |
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| The morn rose red on Landen plain, | |
| King William charged o’er heaps of slain, | |
| And Frenchmen’s blood poured out like rain | |
| Upon the field so gory; | 15 |
| To stem his onset vain they tried, | |
| As on he swept in warlike pride, | |
| Till Luxemburg, our marshal, cried, | |
| “New force we want | |
| To bear the brunt, | 20 |
| So bring the Irish to the front!” | |
| Where Sarsfield died in glory. | |
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| Then you should hear our slogan roar, | |
| Loud swell the din of battle o’er, | |
| As forward our battalions bore | 25 |
| To change the Frenchman’s story; | |
| Against the foe our strength we threw, | |
| And mixed us in the bloody brew, | |
| While swords and spears in flinders flew, | |
| And grape and shot | 30 |
| And bullets hot | |
| Rained round the crimson, fatal spot | |
| Where Sarsfield died in glory! | |
| |
| There, like the bolt that from on high | |
| Tears roaring through the storm-wracked sky, | 35 |
| And on the trembling ground anigh | |
| In thunder bursts before ye; | |
| So our brave chieftain ’neath the ball, | |
| In thundering clangor met his fall, | |
| But rallying at his dying call, | 40 |
| With deafening shout, | |
| Our foemen stout, | |
| We swept away in bloody rout, | |
| Where Sarsfield died in glory! | |
| |
| His hand upon the wound he pressed, | 45 |
| Sad sinking to his final rest, | |
| Then took it from his gallant breast, | |
| With his hot life-blood gory— | |
| “O, would,” the dying hero cried, | |
| “That this my heart’s ensanguined tide | 50 |
| Had stained some native mountain side | |
| For old Ireland!” | |
| Then dropped his hand, | |
| And midst our tearful, conquering band | |
| Brave Sarsfield died in glory! | 55 |
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| Then all good men, where’er you be, | |
| Who fought for Ireland’s liberty, | |
| Our hero brave lament with me, | |
| And ponder well his story; | |
| And pray, like him, that you may die | 60 |
| Beneath old Ireland’s genial sky, | |
| With Saxon dead piled mountains high, | |
| The spot around | |
| Where you have found | |
| The hero’s death on Irish ground | 65 |
| That Sarsfield died in glory! | |
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