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1918
WE’RE not so old in the Army List, | |
| But we’re not so young at our trade, | |
| For we had the honour at Fontenoy | |
| Of meeting the Guards’ Brigade. | |
| ’Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare, | 5 |
| And Lee that led us then, | |
| And after a hundred and seventy years | |
| We’re fighting for France again! | |
| Old Days! The wild geese are flighting, | |
| Head to the storm as they faced it before! | 10 |
| For where there are Irish there’s bound to be fighting, | |
| And when there’s no fighting, it’s Ireland no more! | |
| Ireland no more! | |
| |
| The fashion’s all for khaki now, | |
| But once through France we went | 15 |
| Full-dressed in scarlet Army cloth, | |
| The English—left at Ghent. | |
| They’re fighting on our side to-day | |
| But, before they changed their clothes, | |
| The half of Europe knew our fame, | 20 |
| As all of Ireland knows! | |
| Old Days! The wild geese are flying, | |
| Head to the storm as they faced it before! | |
| For where there are Irish there’s memory undying, | |
| And when we forget, it is Ireland no more! | 25 |
| Ireland no more! | |
| |
| From Barry Wood to Gouzeaucourt, | |
| From Boyne to Pilkem Ridge, | |
| The ancient days come back no more | |
| Than water under the bridge. | 30 |
| But the bridge it stands and the water runs | |
| As red as yesterday, | |
| And the Irish move to the sound of the guns | |
| Like salmon to the sea. | |
| Old Days! The wild geese are ranging, | 35 |
| Head to the storm as they faced it before! | |
| For where there are Irish their hearts are unchanging, | |
| And when they are changed, it is Ireland no more! | |
| Ireland no more! | |
| |
| We’re not so old in the Army List, | 40 |
| But we’re not so new in the ring, | |
| For we carried our packs with Marshal Saxe | |
| When Louis was our King. | |
| But Douglas Haig’s our Marshal now | |
| And we’re King George’s men, | 45 |
| And after one hundred and seventy years | |
| We’re fighting for France again! | |
| Ah, France! And did we stand by you, | |
| When life was made splendid with gifts and rewards? | |
| Ah, France! And will we deny you | 50 |
| In the hour of your agony, Mother of Swords? | |
| Old Days! The wild geese are flighting, | |
| Head to the storm as they faced it before! | |
| For where there are Irish there’s loving and fighting, | |
| And when we stop either, it’s Ireland no more! | 55 |
| Ireland no more! | |
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