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See the host of fleet foot men |
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Who sped with faces wan. |
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From farmstedt and from fishers cot |
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Along the banks of Bann. |
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They come with vengeance in their eyes, |
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Too late, too late are they, |
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For young Roddy McCorley goes to die |
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On the bridge of Toome today |
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Up the narrow streets he steps, |
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Smiling proud and young. |
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About the hemp rope on his neck, |
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The golden ringlets clung. |
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There was never a tear in his blue eyes, |
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Both sad and bright are they, |
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For young Roddy McCorley goes to die |
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On the bridge of Toome today. |
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When the last stepped up the street, |
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His shining pike in hand. |
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Behind him marched in grim array |
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A stalwart earnest band. |
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For Antrim town, for Antrim town, |
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He led them to the fray, |
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And young Roddy McCorley goes to die |
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On the bridge of Toome today. |
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There's never a one of all your dead |
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More bravely died in fray |
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Than he who marches to his fate |
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On the bridge Toome today |
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True to the last! True to the last, |
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He treads the upwards way, |
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And young Roddy McCorley goes to die |
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On the bridge of Toome today. |
