<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=576823" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Irish Soldier</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Irish soldier, cast for fight,<br>Stood to his arms at dead of night,<br>Watching the east, until its ray<br>To the battle--field should show his way;--<br>Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,<br>You will fight though they call you slave,<br>And though you but help a bandit hand<br>Uncheck'd to kill in your native land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The soldier thought on his chance of doom--<br>How the trampled sod might be his tomb--<br>How, in evening's dusk, his sightless stare<br>To the small pale stars might upward glare;--<br>Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,<br>You will fight though you think of the grave--<br>Though it yawn so near you, black and chill,<br>Honor and courage man you still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And o'er his solemn brow he made<br>The Christian sign, and humbly said--<br>``Your prayers, good saints, if I should fall;<br>And for mercy, O Lord, on you I call!''--<br>Irish soldier, soldier brave,<br>You will fight, although you crave<br>The prayers of the saints your own to aid,<br>And the sign of the cross on your brow have made.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The morning broke--the bugle blew--<br>The voice of command the soldier knew,<br>And stern and straight in the van he stood,<br>And shouting, he rush'd to the work of blood;--<br>Irish soldier, soldier bold,<br>Thousands lay round you, crimson'd and cold--<br>But over their bodies you still fought on,<br>Till down you sank as the day was won.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the Irish soldier now hath come,<br>Worn, and wounded, and crippled, home,<br>The hated, and slander'd, and scorn'd of those<br>Who safely slept while he faced their foes;--<br>Irish soldier, soldier bold,<br>In your native land you now are told<br>'Twas traitor--blood on that field you lost,<br>For you call'd on the saints, and your brow you cross'd!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Banim">John Banim</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=576823" data-title="The Irish Soldier de John Banim" data-description="The Irish soldier, cast for fight, Stood to his arms at dead of night, Watching the east, until its ray To the battle--field should show his way;-- Soldier, soldier, soldier brave, You will fight though they call you slave, And though you but help..."></div> </div> </div>

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