We waited on Saint Marye’s heights behind a fortified stone wall.
We were brave Rebels, one and all, and many of us hailed from Erin’s shore.
The boys in Blue from Maine and Michigan we had repulsed with heavy loss.
Now we saw the green battle flag raised by Meagher’s boys from New York.
We raised a cheer for Erin’s pride which was cut short when our captain said:
“ I do not care if they are brave, I only care to see them dead.”
They set out smartly up the heights, through the ranks of dead and wounded.
We saw the proud Green banner wavering, caught up in a gust of lead.
A red head lad sprung to retrieve it. He saved their banner lest it fall.
One brave sergeant took five bullets, falling ten feet from the wall
The shattered remnants of Meagher’s brigade fell back from St. Marye’s heights.
Darkness came early with biting cold as that it cruel December’s way.
We gave a mighty Rebel yell; Old Marse Robert fared well this day.
Through his field glass he surveyed the field, the hill a writhing mass of blue.
“It is well that war is so terrible, James, or we should grow too fond of it.”
Marse Robert said that, I tell you true.