Rome, Boys, Rome.

"The heart which grief hath cankered.
Hath one unfailing remedy—the tankard."

D. Smith's "Toasts."

Air: "Home, Boys, Home."

Out on the ramparts the standards are unfurled,
Far from the city whose pulses move the world;
We sing her heroes' praise—their spirit ever thrills;
We long for a glimpse of her seven hills—
We long for a glimpse of the home—the homeland hills.

Chorus :
Rome, boys, Rome, it's at Rome we ought to be,
Rome, boys, Rome, where the wine flows free.
Up with the glass and down with every foe,
And down with the wine when the tankards flow.

Sing we of Horatius, the Captain of the Gate,
Sing, too, of Maximus, who taught us how to wait;
Of Julius triumphant, the spoils he carried home,
And sing of maidens fair we left in Rome.
And sing of maidens fair we left—we left in Rome.