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'T[Am]was
down by the[C] glenside I[Am] met an old [C]woman,
A-[Am]plucking young[C] nettles, nor[Am] saw I was [C]coming.
I[Am]
listened awhile to the[C] song she was[G] humming,
Glory -[Am]o, Glory-[G]Go, to the[Am] Bold Fenian Men.
'Tis sixteen
long years since I saw the moon beaming
On brave manly forms, and their eyes were heart gleaming.
I see them all now
sure in all my daydreaming.
Glory -o, Glory-o, to the Bold Fenian Men.
Some died by the hillside, some died with
a stranger
And wise men have judged 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, thanks to God, that I met her
Be life
long or short, sure I'll never forget her
There may have been brave men, but they'll never be better.
Glory -o, Glory-o,
to the Bold Fenian Men.
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