Page:The Tricolour, Poems of the Irish Revolution.djvu/73

 To go to fight on foreign strand, For foreign rights and foreign land?

The Lion's fangs have sought to kill A Nation's soul, a Nation's will; From tooth and claw thy wounded breast Has held them safe, has held them blest. About thy head great eagles are, They fly with scream and storm of war, Their shadows fall, we do not know If they be friend,—if they be foe.

For Lion's roar we have no fears, We fought him down the restless years. We watch the Eagles in the sky, Lest they should land—or pass us by. But, yet beware! the Lion goes To strike our friends—to charm our foes. By hamlet small, by hill and dale The creeping foe is on our trail;

His face is kind, his voice is bland, He prates of faith and fatherland; Shall we go forth to die and die For Belgium's tear, and Serbia's sigh? Oh, Volunteers, through field and town