The Battle o' Vittoria

The Battle o' Vittoria.
Sing, all ye bards, with loud acclaim,
Give glory high to gallant Graham,
Heap laurels on our Marshal’s fame.
Who conquer’d at Vittoria.
Triumphant freedom smil'd on Spain,
An’ rais’d her stately form again,
Where the British lion shook his mane
On the mountains o’ Vittoria.
Let blust’ring Suchet crousely crack,
Let Joseph rin the coward’s track.
An’ Jourdan wish the baton back,
He left upon Vittoria!
If e’er they meet their worthy king,
Let them dance roun’ him in a ring;
And some Scotch piper play the spring,
He blew them at Vittoria!
Gae truth and honour to the Dane,
Gae German’s monarch heart and brain;
But aye, in sic a cause as Spain,
Gae Britons at Vittoria!
The English Rose was ne’er so red,
The Shamrock wav’d where glory led,
And the Scottish Thistle rais’d its head.
And smil’d upon Vittoria!
Loud was the battle’s stormy swell,
Whar’ thousands fought and many fell;
But the Glasgow heroes bore the bell.
At the battle o’ Vittoria!
The Paris maids may ban them a’,
Their lads are maistly wed awa',
An’ cauld and pale as wreaths o’ snaw,
They lie up on Vittoria.
Peace, to the spirits o’ the brave,
Let all their trophies for them wave.
An’ green be our Cadogan’s grave,
Upon the field Vittoria.
Shout on, my boys, your glasses drain,
An’ fill a bumber up again;
Pledge to the leading star o’ Spain,
The hero o’ Vittoria.