CHEARLY, my hearts, of courage true!
The hour’s at hand to try your worth;
A glorious peril waits for you,
And valour pants to lead you forth;
Mark where the enemy’s colours fly, boys;
There some shall conquer, and some must die, boys;
But that appals not you or me,
For our watch-word it shall be,
“Britons, strike home!”
Chorus
“Britons, strike home! revenge your country’s wrong!”
When rolling mists their march shall hide,
At dead of night a chosen band,
List’ning to the dashing tide,
With silent tread shall print the sand:
Then where the Spanish colours fly, boys,
We’ll scale the walls, or bravely die, boys;
For we are Britons bold and free,
And our watch-word it shall be,
“Britons, strike home!” &c.
The cruel Spaniard, then too late,
Dismay’d, shall mourn th’ avenging blow,
Yet, vanquish’d, meet the milder fate
Which mercy grants a fallen foe.
Thus shall the British banners fly, boys,
On you proud turrets rais’d on high, boys;
And while the gallant flag we see,
We’ll swear our watch-word still shall be,
“Britons, strike home!” &c.