Eyes right! my jolly field boys,
Who British bayonets bear,
To teach your foes to yield, boys,
When British steel they dare!
Now fill the glass, for the toast of toasts
Shall be drunk with the cheer of cheers:—
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
For the British Bayoneteers!
Then fill the glass, for the toast of toasts, &c.
II.
Great guns have shot and shell, boys,
Dragoons have sabres bright,
Th' artillery's fire's like hell, boys,
And the horse like devils fight;
But neither light nor heavy horse,
Nor thundering cannoneers,
Can stem the tide of the foeman's pride,
Like the British Bayoneteers.
Then fill the glass, for the toast of toasts, &c.
III.
See, see, red Battle raging,
In wild and bloody strife;
His burning thirst assuaging
In the smoking tide of life!
From the shower of balls our men give way—
But the rank of steel appears:
They charge!—Hurrah! Hurrah! for the day
Is the British Bayoneteers!
Then fill the glass, for the toast of toasts, &c.
IV.
The English arm is strong, boys,
The Irish arm is tough,
The Scotchman's blow, the French well know,
Is struck by sterling stuff;
And when, before the enemy,
Their shining steel appears—
Good by'e! Good by'e!—How they run! How they fly
From the British Bayoneteers!
Then fill the glass, for the toast of toasts, &c.
Loud applause followed this song, for the wine had pretty freely circulated before it was sung. A deviled turkey was now brought in, the decanters were all replenished, and several jolly songs sung. It was a festival day; therefore did the young subs leave off the everyday rule of quitting the mess-table after the “second allowance,” and indulged ad libitum. In short, a merrier set of fellows, from the Colonel to the Quarter-master, never broke up from a happy mess-table, than they, at half-past 12 o'clock, A. M.