Pat Murphy of the Irish Brigde

Irish-American, 1860’s

The night before battle, and all through the camp,
The soldiers lay close in their quarters,
No doubt they were thinking of their loved ones at home,
Mothers, wives, children and daughters,
Far away in the east was a dashing young blade,
And a song he was singing so gaily,
It was honest Pat Murphy of Meagher’s Brigade,
And He sang of the sprig of Shillelagh,

Well now says Pat, what a pity to see,
Brother’s fighting in such a cruel manner,
But I’ll fight ’til I die, and I’ll surely be killed,
For America’ bright starry banner,
Were it only John Bull, who were here to the fore,
I would rush into battle so gaily,
And I’d leaver away with a heart and a half,
With my elegant sprig of shillelagh

The morning then came, and young Pat he arose,
On the rebels to have satisfaction,
The drummers were beating the Devil’s Tattoo,
Calling the boys into action,
And the Irish Brigade in the Battle was seen,
Their blood for the cause shedding freely,
As with bayonet charges they marched on the foe,
With a shout for the Land of Shillelagh

The Battle was over, the dead lay in heaps,
Pat Murphy lay bleeding and gory,
A hole to his chest, from a rifleman’s shot,
Ended his Passion for Glory,
No More in the camp will his laughter be heard,
Nor his voice singing ditties so gaily,
For a hero has died for the land of the free,
Far away from the Harp and Shillelagh.

And surely Columbia, must never forget,
Where valor and fame held communion,
How bravely those Immigrant soldiers all fought,
In defense of the flag of the Union,
And if ever their countries assistance do need,
Let their cause we so gaily be heeding,
Let the Stars and the Stripes be seen along side,
Of the flag of beleaguered nations.

Repeat verse 1 lines 1&2.

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