Down by the Glenside
'Twas down by the glenside, I met
an old woman
She was picking young nettles
and she scarce saw me coming
I listened a while to the song
she was humming
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold
Fenian men.
'Tis fifty long years since
I saw the moon beaming
On strong manly forms and their
eyes with hope gleaming
I see them again, sure, in all
my daydreaming
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold
Fenian men.
Some died on the glenside,
some died near a stranger
And wise men have told us that
their cause was a failure
They fought for old Ireland
and they never feared danger
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold
Fenian men.
I passed on my way, God
be praised that I met her
Be life long or short, sure
I'll never forget her
We may have brave men, but we'll
never have better
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold
Fenian men. |