You'll soon be dead," the general said,
righteous eyes ablaze;
"Chapultepec, there: when it falls
these city walls will flaunt your weight."
Fate's last beck:
fifty Irishmen hanged by the neck,
traitors to the States, you know:
Batalion San Patricio.
Eviction wracks, famine rends: when
oppressed without an end,
blight and bile turn rank and file;
bugles call, and the mind's beguiled
by revenge so pure:
stars and stripes -- a mighty lure
for heroes bold to fight the foe,
future San Patricios.
But curse and lash was all they found,
Know-Nothings all around;
no priest to shrive the Catholic crowd,
no sacraments to be allowed.
"Form your lines!"
Shot and shell and bullet whine;
what you bear in Mexico is
Vera Cruz, Patricio!
Amid the smoke of battle seen
hazily as a dream,
blessing best, blessing least:
a tonsured Mexicano priest --
Dia 's Muire dhuit! --
shot by Yankees, thrown in a ditch:
the Captain with that curse and blow
making San Patricios.
The number run was never told:
but near two hundred souls
bolted free and hotly chose
to die as San Patricios,
all foresworn:
treason is death, as sure as you're born.
Never with a chance did they go:
they were born for San Patricio!
A hundred died; the rest survived
to hang on Mexico's wall:
the fortress fell, the rest, indeed,
manifested destiny.
Fate's last beck:
fifty Irishmen hanged by the neck,
traitors to the States, you know:
the last of the San Patricios.
Batalion San Patricio!
righteous eyes ablaze;
"Chapultepec, there: when it falls
these city walls will flaunt your weight."
Fate's last beck:
fifty Irishmen hanged by the neck,
traitors to the States, you know:
Batalion San Patricio.
Eviction wracks, famine rends: when
oppressed without an end,
blight and bile turn rank and file;
bugles call, and the mind's beguiled
by revenge so pure:
stars and stripes -- a mighty lure
for heroes bold to fight the foe,
future San Patricios.
But curse and lash was all they found,
Know-Nothings all around;
no priest to shrive the Catholic crowd,
no sacraments to be allowed.
"Form your lines!"
Shot and shell and bullet whine;
what you bear in Mexico is
Vera Cruz, Patricio!
Amid the smoke of battle seen
hazily as a dream,
blessing best, blessing least:
a tonsured Mexicano priest --
Dia 's Muire dhuit! --
shot by Yankees, thrown in a ditch:
the Captain with that curse and blow
making San Patricios.
The number run was never told:
but near two hundred souls
bolted free and hotly chose
to die as San Patricios,
all foresworn:
treason is death, as sure as you're born.
Never with a chance did they go:
they were born for San Patricio!
A hundred died; the rest survived
to hang on Mexico's wall:
the fortress fell, the rest, indeed,
manifested destiny.
Fate's last beck:
fifty Irishmen hanged by the neck,
traitors to the States, you know:
the last of the San Patricios.
Batalion San Patricio!
Contributed by Piersante Sestini - 2023/8/15 - 03:00
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La canzone è stata incisa nel 1995, credo come singolo, forse intitolata solo "San Patricio"
Sull'argomento sono state scritte diverse canzoni:
March to Battle (Across the Rio Grande) dei Chieftains
Lullaby for the dead dei Chieftains
The Sands of Mexico dei Chieftains
San Patricio Brigade dei Black 47
San Patricios dei Street dogs
The Men That God Made Mad di Niamh Parsons
John Riley di Tim O'Brien
Saint Patrick Battalion di David Rovics
St Patrick's Brave Brigade di Damien Dempsey
Pa’ Los Del San Patricio di Charlie O'Brien
Saint Patrick's Battalion dei The Elders
El Batallón de San Patricio dei Prisionero 51
Batallon San Patricio di Thom Moore
Ribelli di Riccardo Sgavetti
The Ballad of John Riley di Riccardo Sgavetti