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The minstrel boy to the war has gone, |
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In the ranks of death you'll find him; |
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His father's sword he hath girded on, |
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And his wild harp slung behind him; "Land of Song!" cried the warrior bard, (Should) "Tho' all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee!" |
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The Minstrel fell! |
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But the foeman's chain |
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Could not bring that proud soul under; |
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The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again, |
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For he tore its chords asunder; |
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And said "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and brav'ry! Thy songs were made for the pure and free They shall never sound in slavery! |
