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Ah Danny boy, the pipes, |
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the pipes are calling |
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From glen to glen, |
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and down the mountain side |
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The summer's gone, |
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and all the flowers are falling |
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'Tis you, 'tis you |
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must go and I must bide |
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But come ye back |
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when summer's in the meadow |
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Or when the valley's hushed |
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and white with snow |
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And I'll be here |
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in sunshine or in shadow |
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Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, |
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I love you so |
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But if you come, |
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and all the flowers are falling |
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And I am dead, |
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as dead I may well be |
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You'll come and find |
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the place where I am lying |
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And kneel and say |
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an "Ave" there for me |
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And I will hear, |
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though soft your tread above me |
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And o'er my grave |
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will warmer sweeter be |
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And you will bend |
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and tell me that you love me |
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And I will sleep |
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in peace until you come to me |
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But if I live |
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and should you die for Ireland |
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Let not your dying thoughts |
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be just of me |
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But say a prayer to God |
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for our dearest Island |
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I know He'll hear |
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and help to set her free |
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And I will take your pike |
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and place my dearest |
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And strike a blow, |
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though weak the blow may be |
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Twill help the cause |
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to which your heart was nearest |
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Oh Danny Boy, Oh, Danny boy |
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I love you so. |
