Pat Murphy of The Irish Brigade
'Twas the night before battle: and all through the camp
The soldiers lay close in their quarters
They were thinking no doubt, of their loved ones at home
Of mothers, wives, children and daughters
With his pipe in his mouth, sat a dashing young blade
And a song he was singing so gaily
It was honest Pat Murphy of the Irish Brigade
And he sang of the Sprig of Shillelagh
Well now! says Pat, such a pity to see
Brothers fighting in such a strange manner
But I fight till I die, an’ I surely be killed
For America's bright Starry Banner
If was only John Bull who were here to the fore
I'd rush into battle quite gaily
And I’d leather away with a heart and a half
With the elegant Sprig of Shillelagh
The morning then came, and Pat he arose,
On the Rebels to have satisfaction
The drummer was 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
When the battle was over the dead lay in heaps
Pat Murphy lay bleeding and gory
A hole in his head from a rifleman's shot
Had ended his passion for glory
And no more in the camp will his laughter be heard
Or his voice singing ditties so gaily
Like a hero he died for the Land of the Free
Far away from the land of Shillelagh
Then surely Columbia will never forget
Where valor and fame hold communion
How boldly those brave Irish Volunteers fought
In defense of the flag of the Union
And if ever Old Ireland assistance does need
The Call will be heeden quite gaily
And the Stars and the Stripes will be seen alongside,
Of the Flag of the Land of Shillelagh
Far away in the east sat 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.
