Page:The Spirit of the Nation.djvu/149

Rh —"When my Old Cap was New."

I.

Rouse, Erin, rouse, and clap your wings,

Look forth on coming joys;

Wake, Erin's muse, and sweep your strings,

And cheer our "Irish Boys;"

Those "Boys" who'll chase each Saxon drone

From Ireland's recking hive;

Our nation's marrow, blood, and bone,

Our "Men of Twenty-Five."

II.

Our fathers were a noble race,

But mournful was their doom;

They blenched before the cut-throat's face,

They sleep in Slavery's tomb.

"Unhonored sleep"—but we, their sons,

Our rusty chains will rive;

We little dread their whips and guns,

We're "Men of Twenty-five."

III.

The Saxons say we thirst for blood,

The villains base, they lie;