[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!