The Brigade at Fontenoy —by B. Dowling Note: Fontenoy is about a battle in France between the English/Dutch and the French. The Irish Brigade was part of the French Army then; and, after the treaty of Limerick about 20,000 Irishmen left Ireland to join France's army because they thought they had secured a treaty that would give their people equal rights, instead the British tore up the treaty and started the penal laws. The Irish in the French Army then took on the battle cry "Cuimnidh ar Luimneach agus ar Feall na Sasanach!"— Remember Limerick and the Saxon Faith (i.e., English betrayal). At Fontenoy (1745), there was a major battle which the French were losing; the French decided to retreat and sent the Irish Brigade forward to cover that retreat. Instead the small Irish Brigade charged against the unimaginably huge British ranks, they got cut down with every volley but they kept charging and eventually won the day for the French Army who were still retreating. The British started retreating and the only ones left on the battle field was the Irish Brigade. By our camp-fires rose a murmur, At the dawning of the day, And the tread of many footsteps Spoke the advent of the fray; And, as we took our places, Few and stern were our words, While some were tightening horse-girths, And some were girding swords. The trumpet blast is sounding Our footmen to array — The willing steed is bounding, Impatient for the fray — The green flag is unfolded, While rose the cry of joy — "Heaven speed dear Ireland's banner To-day at Fontenoy !" With one shout for good King Louis And the fair land of the vine, Like the wrathful Alpine tempest We swept upon their line — Then rang along the battle-field Triumphant our hurrah, And we smote them down, still cheering, "Erin, shanthagal go bragh !" We looked upon that banner, And the memory arose Of our homes and perished kindred Where the Lee or Shannon flows; We looked upon that banner, And we swore to God on high To smite to-day the Saxon's might — To conquer or to die. As prized as is the blessing From an aged father's lip —- As welcome as the haven To the tempest-driven ship — As dear as to the lover The smile of gentle maid — Is this day of long-sought vengeance To the swords of Brigade. Loud swells the charging trumpet — 'Tis a voice from our own land — God of battles ! God of vengeance ! Guide to-day the patriot's brand ! There are stains to wash away, There are memories to destroy, In the best blood of the Briton To-day at Fontenoy.  See their shattered forces flying, A broken, routed line — See, England, what brave laurels For your brow to-day we twine. Oh, thrice blest the hour that witnessed The Briton turn to flee From the chivalry of Erin, And France's fleur-de-lis. Plunge deep the fiery rowls In a thousand reeking flanks — Down, chivalry of Ireland, Down on the British ranks! Now shall their serried columns Beneath our sabres reel — Through their ranks, then, with the warhorse — Through their bosoms with the steel. As we lay beside our camp fires When the sun had passed away And thought upon our brethren That had perished in the fray — We prayed to God to grant us, And then we'd die with joy, One day upon our own dear land Like that of Fontenoy. Erin, shanthagal go bragh ! See Also: Fontenoy by Thomas Davis Page updated 28 Dec 2008 Ireland's OWN Logo by Eamann Website Design and Fontenoy Background by Míchealín Daugherty Copyright © 2008 Ireland's OWN All Rights Reserved.