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Another Clare is here to lead, The worthy son of such a breed, The French expect some famous deed
When Clare leads on his warriors. Our Colonel comes from Brian's race, His wounds are in his breast and face, The gap of danger's still his place,
The foremost of his squadron.
Vive la! for Ireland's wrong, Vive la! for Ireland's right,
And vive la ! in battle throng For a Spanish steed and sabre.
Oh, comrades think how Ireland pines For exiled lords and rifled shrines, Her dearest hope the ordered lines
And bursting charge of Clare's men. Then fling your green flag to the sky, Be Limerick your battle cry, And charge till blood floats fetlock high
Around the track of Clare's men.
Vive la! for Ireland's wrong, Vive la for Ireland's right,
And vive la in battle throng For a Spanish steed and sabre.
* Pronounc* " Veeve"—Ed.