The Flower of Finae

He fought at Cremona—she hears of his story
 He fought at Casano—she's proud of his glory
 Yet sadly she sings "Siubhail a Rúin" all the day
 O, come home my darlin', come home to Finae
 Eight Long years have passed till she's nigh broken-hearted
 Her reel and her rock and her flax she has parted
 She sails with the wild geese to Flanders away
 And leaves her sad parents alone in Finae
 Lord Clare on the field of Ramillies is chargin'
 Before him the Sassanach squadrons enlarging
 Behind him the Cravats, their sections display
 Beside him rides Fergus and shouts for Finae
 On the slopes of La Judoigne the Frenchmen are flyin'
 Lord Clare and his squadrons the foe still defyin'
 Outnumbered and wounded retreat in array
 And bleeding rides Fergus and thinks of Finae
 In the cloisters of Ypres a banner is swayin'
 That flag's the sole trophy of Ramillies' fray
 This nun is poor Eily, the flower of Finae