The Brigade At Fontenoy - song lyrics 
American Old-time song lyrics from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
THE BRIGADE AT FONTENOY. 
By our camp fires rose a murmur At the dawning of the day, And the tread of many footsteps Spoke the advent of the fray; And as we took our places, Few and stern were our words, While some were tightening horse-girths, And some were girding swords. 
The trumpet-blast has sounded Our footmen to array, The willing steed has bounded Impatient for the fray; The green flag is unfolded, While rose the cry of joy: "Heaven speed dear Ireland's banner To-day at Fontenoy!" 
We looked upon that banner, And the memory arose Of our homes and perished kindred, Where the Lee or Shannon flows; We looked upon that banner And we swore to God on high, To smite to-day the Saxon's might, To conquer or to die. 
Loud swells the charging trumpet, 'Tis a voice from our own land; God of battles, God of vengeance, Guide to-day the patriots brand; There are stains to wash away, There are memories to destroy In the best blood of the Briton To-day at Fontenoy. 
Plunge deep the fiery rowels In a thousand reeking flunks; Down chivalry of Ireland, Down on the British ranks; Now shall their serried columns Beneath our sabres reel; Through their ranks, then, with the war-horse. Through their bosoms with the steel. 
With one shout for King Louis And the fair land of the vine. Like the wrathful Alpine tempest We swept upon their line; Then rang along the battlefield Triumphant our hurrah. And we smote them down, still cheering: "Erin, slanthagal go bragh!" 
As prized as is the blessing From an aged father's lip, As welcome as the haven To the tempest-driven ship. As dear as to the lover The smile of gentle maid, Is this day of long-sought vengeance To the "swords of the Brigade. 
See their shattered forces flying, A broken, routed line: 
See. England, what brave laurels For your brow to-day we twino; Oh, thrice blessed the hour that witnessed The Briton turned to flee From the chivalry of Erin And France's " fleur de lis!" 
As we lay beside our camp-fires, When the sun had passed away, And thought upon our brethren Who had perished in the fray, We prayed to God to grant us, And then we'd die with joy. One day upon our own dear land Like this of Fontenoy!