| Song | Song for the Irish Brigade |
| Artist | David Kincaid |
| Album | The Irish-American's Song |
| [00:00.000] | 作曲 : Traditional arranged by David Kincaid |
| [00:03.693] | Oh, not now for songs of a nation's wrongs, |
| [00:07.664] | Not the groans of starving labor; |
| [00:11.587] | Let the rifle ring and the bullet sing |
| [00:15.081] | To the clash of the flashing sabre! |
| [00:19.965] | There are Irish ranks on the tented banks |
| [00:23.607] | Of Columbia's guarded ocean; |
| [00:27.867] | And an iron clank from flank to flank |
| [00:30.999] | Tells of armed men in motion. |
| [00:49.868] | And frank souls there clear true and bare |
| [00:53.641] | To all, as the steel beside them, |
| [00:57.281] | Can love or hate withe the strength of Fate, |
| [01:01.056] | Till the grave of the valiant hide them. |
| [01:06.158] | Each seems to be mailed Ard Righ, |
| [01:09.518] | Whose sword's avenging glory |
| [01:13.441] | Must light the fight and smite for Right, |
| [01:16.988] | Like Brian's in olden story! |
| [01:35.744] | With pale affright and panic flight |
| [01:39.380] | Shall dastard Yankees base and hollow, |
| [01:43.485] | Hear a Celtic race, from their battle place, |
| [01:46.932] | Charge to the shout of "Faugh-a-ballaugh!" |
| [01:51.800] | By the sould above, by the land we love |
| [01:55.436] | Her tears bleeding patience |
| [01:59.406] | The sledge is wrought that shall smash to naught |
| [02:02.806] | The brazen liar of nations. |
| [02:21.683] | The Irish green shall again be seen |
| [02:25.550] | As our Irish fathers bore it, |
| [02:29.319] | A burning wind from the South behind, |
| [02:32.823] | And the Yankee rout before it! |
| [02:37.985] | O'Neil's red hand shall purge the land- |
| [02:41.307] | Rain a fire on men and cattle, |
| [02:45.139] | Till the Lincoln snakes in their own cold lakes |
| [02:48.738] | Plunge from the blaze of battle. |
| [03:07.524] | The knaves that rest on Columbia's breast, |
| [03:11.205] | And the voice of true men stifle; |
| [03:15.132] | We'll exorcise from the rescued prize- |
| [03:18.717] | Our talisman, the rifle; |
| [03:23.587] | For a tyrant's life a bowie knife!- |
| [03:27.173] | Of Union knot dissolvers, |
| [03:31.091] | The best we ken are stalwart men, |
| [03:34.621] | Columbiads and revolvers! |
| [03:53.467] | Whoe'er shall march by triumphal arch |
| [03:57.152] | Whoe'er may swell the slaughter, |
| [04:01.040] | Our drums shall roll from the Capitol |
| [04:04.816] | O'er Potomac's fateful water! |
| [04:09.528] | Rise, bleeding ghosts, to the Lord of Hosts |
| [04:12.982] | For judgement final and solemn; |
| [04:16.716] | Your fanatic horde to the edge of the sword |
| [04:20.684] | Is doomed line, square, and column! |
| [00:00.000] | zuò qǔ : Traditional arranged by David Kincaid |
| [00:03.693] | Oh, not now for songs of a nation' s wrongs, |
| [00:07.664] | Not the groans of starving labor |
| [00:11.587] | Let the rifle ring and the bullet sing |
| [00:15.081] | To the clash of the flashing sabre! |
| [00:19.965] | There are Irish ranks on the tented banks |
| [00:23.607] | Of Columbia' s guarded ocean |
| [00:27.867] | And an iron clank from flank to flank |
| [00:30.999] | Tells of armed men in motion. |
| [00:49.868] | And frank souls there clear true and bare |
| [00:53.641] | To all, as the steel beside them, |
| [00:57.281] | Can love or hate withe the strength of Fate, |
| [01:01.056] | Till the grave of the valiant hide them. |
| [01:06.158] | Each seems to be mailed Ard Righ, |
| [01:09.518] | Whose sword' s avenging glory |
| [01:13.441] | Must light the fight and smite for Right, |
| [01:16.988] | Like Brian' s in olden story! |
| [01:35.744] | With pale affright and panic flight |
| [01:39.380] | Shall dastard Yankees base and hollow, |
| [01:43.485] | Hear a Celtic race, from their battle place, |
| [01:46.932] | Charge to the shout of " Faughaballaugh!" |
| [01:51.800] | By the sould above, by the land we love |
| [01:55.436] | Her tears bleeding patience |
| [01:59.406] | The sledge is wrought that shall smash to naught |
| [02:02.806] | The brazen liar of nations. |
| [02:21.683] | The Irish green shall again be seen |
| [02:25.550] | As our Irish fathers bore it, |
| [02:29.319] | A burning wind from the South behind, |
| [02:32.823] | And the Yankee rout before it! |
| [02:37.985] | O' Neil' s red hand shall purge the land |
| [02:41.307] | Rain a fire on men and cattle, |
| [02:45.139] | Till the Lincoln snakes in their own cold lakes |
| [02:48.738] | Plunge from the blaze of battle. |
| [03:07.524] | The knaves that rest on Columbia' s breast, |
| [03:11.205] | And the voice of true men stifle |
| [03:15.132] | We' ll exorcise from the rescued prize |
| [03:18.717] | Our talisman, the rifle |
| [03:23.587] | For a tyrant' s life a bowie knife! |
| [03:27.173] | Of Union knot dissolvers, |
| [03:31.091] | The best we ken are stalwart men, |
| [03:34.621] | Columbiads and revolvers! |
| [03:53.467] | Whoe' er shall march by triumphal arch |
| [03:57.152] | Whoe' er may swell the slaughter, |
| [04:01.040] | Our drums shall roll from the Capitol |
| [04:04.816] | O' er Potomac' s fateful water! |
| [04:09.528] | Rise, bleeding ghosts, to the Lord of Hosts |
| [04:12.982] | For judgement final and solemn |
| [04:16.716] | Your fanatic horde to the edge of the sword |
| [04:20.684] | Is doomed line, square, and column! |