Waterloo
Come all you sons of Britain
And Irish heroes too,
And all who fought for Wellington
At the battle of Waterloo
On tbe fifteenth day of June, my boys,
Eighteen hundred and sixty,
It's many a valiant soldier lay
Upon the crimson green.
O Mooney to his soldiers said
Before tbe fray began:
If we this day shall lose, my boys,
Our nation is undone.
But let us fight with all our might,
And I will promise you,
We'll spread victorious banners
O'er the plains of Waterloo.
O Mooney mounted his milk-white steed,
And like a cock he crew;
He wrung his hands and tore his hair
That day at Waterloo.
There's General Hill, he led the van,
Alas! he is no more;
For I saw him as I passed by
Like thousands in their gore.
from English Folk Songs in the Appalachian Mountains, Sharp
Collected from Mr. Philander FitzGerald, Nash, VA, 1918
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Waterloo
Come all you sons of Britain
And Irish heroes too,
And all who fought for Wellington
At the battle of Waterloo
On tbe fifteenth day of June, my boys,
Eighteen hundred and sixty,
It's many a valiant soldier lay
Upon the crimson green.
O Mooney to his soldiers said
Before tbe fray began:
If we this day shall lose, my boys,
Our nation is undone.
But let us fight with all our might,
And I will promise you,
We'll spread victorious banners
O'er the plains of Waterloo.
O Mooney mounted his milk-white steed,
And like a cock he crew;
He wrung his hands and tore his hair
That day at Waterloo.
There's General Hill, he led the van,
Alas! he is no more;
For I saw him as I passed by
Like thousands in their gore.
from English Folk Songs in the Appalachian Mountains, Sharp
Collected from Mr. Philander FitzGerald, Nash, VA, 1918
Come all you sons of Britain
And Irish heroes too,
And all who fought for Wellington
At the battle of Waterloo
On tbe fifteenth day of June, my boys,
Eighteen hundred and sixty,
It's many a valiant soldier lay
Upon the crimson green.
O Mooney to his soldiers said
Before tbe fray began:
If we this day shall lose, my boys,
Our nation is undone.
But let us fight with all our might,
And I will promise you,
We'll spread victorious banners
O'er the plains of Waterloo.
O Mooney mounted his milk-white steed,
And like a cock he crew;
He wrung his hands and tore his hair
That day at Waterloo.
There's General Hill, he led the van,
Alas! he is no more;
For I saw him as I passed by
Like thousands in their gore.
from English Folk Songs in the Appalachian Mountains, Sharp
Collected from Mr. Philander FitzGerald, Nash, VA, 1918