Time--The Ninth Century. To-Morrow, Comrade, We On The Battle-Plain Must Be, There To Conquer, Or Both Lie Low! The Morning Star Is Up,-- But There'S Wine Still In The Cup, And We'll Take Another Quaff, Ere We Go, Boy, Go; We'll Take Another Quaff, Ere We Go. 'Tis True, In Manliest Eyes A Passing Tear Will Rise, When We Think Of The Friends We Leave Lone; But What Can Wailing Do? See, Our Goblet'S Weeping Too! With Its Tears We'll Chase Away Our Own, Boy, Our Own; With Its Tears We'll Chase Away Our Own. But Daylight'S Stealing On;-- The Last That O'Er Us Shone Saw Our Children Around Us Play; The Next--Ah! Where Shall We And Those Rosy Urchins Be? But--No Matter--Grasp Thy Sword And Away, Boy, Away; No Matter--Grasp Thy Sword And Away! Let Those, Who Brook The Chain Of Saxon Or Of Dane, Ignobly By Their Firesides Stay; One Sigh To Home Be Given, One Heartfelt Prayer To Heaven, Then, For Erin And Her Cause, Boy, Hurra! Hurra! Hurra! Then, For Erin And Her Cause, Hurra!