Rejoice! the fearful day is oer
For the victors and the slain;
Our cannon proclaim from shore to shore,
The Allies have won again!
Let our joy bells ring out music clear,
The gayest theyve ever pealed;
Let bonfires flames the dark night cheer,
We are masters of the field
But list! dost hear that mournful wail
Bove the joyous revelry?
Rising from hillside and lowly vale,
Say, what can its meaning be?
From Erins sunny emerald shore
It trembles upon the gale,
And rises with the torrents roar
From the birth place of the Gael.
Fair Albion, too, in every spot
Of thy land of promise wide
Is heard that dirge for the mournful lot
Of thy soldier sonsthy pride.
Them shall no bugle at dawn of day
Arouse from their quiet sleep,
Them shall no charger with shrill neigh
Bear off to the hillside steep.
Mid the dead and dying stretched unknown
On Crimeas blood stained earth,
Lie the household gods of many a home,
The lights of many a hearth:
While, vainly womans weeping voice
Calls on each well loved one
The tender wife on her girlhoods choice,
The fond mother on her son.
And not only from the peasants cot
Comes that mournful, dirge like cry,
Tis heardunto all a common lot
Where dwell the great and high;
And tears fall fast for the last lost child
Of many a noble race,
Who has perished in that struggle wild,
And left none to fill his place.
Yet if above our laurels bright
Falls many a bitter tear,
Still, still, may we find a gleam of light,
Our stricken hearts to cheer;
They have fallen in the countrys cause
That their youth and manhood nursed,
They have fallen true to honors laws,
In a sacred strife and just.
