The Saxon Shilling - The Dubliners

Hark!

a martial sound is heard—

The march of soldiers, fifing, drumming;

Eyes are staring, hearts are stirr’d

For bold recruits the brave are coming.

Ribands flaunting, feathers gay

The sounds and sights are surely thrilling,

Dazzl’d village youths to-day

Will crowd to take the Saxon Shilling.

Ye, whose spirits will not bow

In peace to parish tyrants longer

Ye, who wear the villain brow,

And ye who pine in hopeless hunger

Fools, without the brave man’s faith

All slaves and starvelings who are willing

To sell yourselves to shame and death

Accept the fatal Saxon Shilling.

Go—to find, 'mid crime and toil,

The doom to which such guilt is hurried;

Go—to leave on Indian soil

Your bones to bleach, accurs’d, unburied!

Go—to crush the just and brave,

Whose wrongs with wrath the world are filling;

Go—to slay each brother slave,

Or spurn the blood-stained Saxon Shilling!

Irish hearts!

why should you bleed,

To swell the tide of British glory

Aiding despots in their need,

Who’ve changed our green so oft to gory?

None, save those who wish to see

The noblest killed, the meanest killing,

And true hearts severed from the free,

Will take again the Saxon Shilling!

Irish youths!

reserve your strength

Until an hour of glorious duty,

When Freedom’s smile shall cheer at length

The land of bravery and beauty.

Bribes and threats, oh, heed no more

Let nought but Justice make you willing

To leave your own dear Island shore,

For those who send the Saxon Shilling.