The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you’ll find him;
His father’s sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;
“Land of Song!” said the warrior bard,
“Tho’ all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!”
The Minstrel fell! But the foeman’s steel
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again,
But he tore its chords asunder;
And said, “No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav’ry!
Thy strains were made for the pure and free
They shall never sound in slavery!
Let Erin remember the days of old,
Ere her faithless sons betray’d her;
When Malachi wore the collar of gold,*
Which he won from her proud invader,
When her kings, with standard of green unfurl’d,
Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger!**
Ere the emerald gem of the western world
Was set in the crown of a stranger.
On Lough Neagh’s bank as the fisherman strays,
When the clear cold eve’s declining,
He sees the round towers of other days
In the wave beneath him shining:
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime,
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time,
For the long-faded glories they cover.***
So fare thee well, my own true love
When I return united we will be
It’s not the leaving of Liverpool that’s grieving me
But my darling when I think of thee.
Thanks to vlikavec.
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