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

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