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IRISH SONGS AND LTR1CS 407 |
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CHARLES GRAHAM HALPINE (1829-1868)
NOT A STAR FROM THE FLAG SHALL FADE
O
CH ! a rare ould flag was the flag we bore, 'Twas a bully ould flag, an' nice; It had sthripes in plenty, an' shtars galore — 'Twas the broth of a purty device. Faix, we carried it South, an' we carried it far,
An' around it our bivouacs made; An' we swore by the shamrock that never a shtar From its azure field should fade.
Ay, this was the oath, I tell you thrue, ■ That was sworn in the souls of our Boys in Blue.
The fight it grows thick, an' our boys they fall,
An' the shells like a banshee scream; An' the flag—it is torn by many a ball,
But to yield it we never dhream. Though pierced by bullets, yet still it bears
All the shtars in its tatthered field, An' again the brigade, like to one man swears,
" Not a shtar from the flag we yield ! "
'Twas the deep, hot oath, I tell you thrue, That lay close to the hearts of our Boys in Blue.
Shure, the fight it was won afther many a year, But two-thirds of the boys who bore |
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