The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you will find him.
His father's sword he hath girded on
And his wild harp slung behind him.
"Land of song!", said the warrior bard
"Though all the world betrays thee
One sword at least thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee."

The minstrel fell but the foeman's chains
Could not bring that proud soul under.
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said, "No chain shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery.
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slav'ry!"

Back to the main Songs page . . .