Down by the glenside I met an old woman
She was plucking young nettles and ne’er saw me comin’
I listened awhile to the song she was humming
Glory-O, Glory-O, to the bold Fenian men.
“When I was a young girl they were marching and drilling
A walk through the glenside astounding and thrilling
But they loved dear old Ireland, to die they were willing
Glory-O, Glory-O, to the bold Fenian men.
It’s thirty long years since I saw the moon beaming
On brave manly forms with hopes all a-gleaming
I see them again, through all my sad dreaming
Glory-O, Glory-O, to the bold Fenian men.
Some died by the glenside, some died ‘midst the stranger
And wise men have told us their cause was a failure
But they loved dear old Ireland, and 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, I will never forget her
We may have good men, but we’ll never have better
Glory-O, Glory-O, to the bold Fenian men.
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