Irish Rebel Songs

Roddy McCorley

See the fleet foot host of men That speed with faces wan, From farmstead and from fisher? s cot Along the banks of Bann, They come with vengeance in their eyes Too late too late are they. For young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Toome today.

Up narrow street he steps Smiling, proud and young. About the hemp rope on his neck The golden ringlets clung There was never a tear in his blue eye, Both sad and bright are they, For young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Toome today.

When he last stepped up that street, His shinning pike in hand, Behind him marched in grim array A stalwart, earnest band. For Antrim town, for Antrim town, He led them to the fray, And young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Toome today.

There was never a one of all your dead More bravely fell in fray Than he who marches to his fate On the bridge of Toome today. True to the last, true to the last, He treads the upward way, And young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Toome today.

Traditional

The Wind that Shakes the Barley

I sat within the valley green, I sat me with my true love My sad heart strove the two between, the old love and the new love The old for her, the new that made me think on Ireland dearly While soft the wind blew down the glen and shook the golden barley

'Twas hard the woeful words to frame to break the ties that bound us But harder still to bear the shame of foreign chains around us And so I said, "The mountain glen I'll seek at morning early And join the bold united men, while soft winds shake the barley"

While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging The foeman's shot burst on our ears from out the wildwood ringing A bullet pierced my true love's side in life's young spring so early And on my breast in blood she died while soft winds shook the barley

But blood for blood without remorse I've taken at Oulart Hollow And laid my true love's clay cold corpse where I full soon may follow As round her grave I wander drear, noon, night and morning early With breaking heart when e'er I hear the wind that shakes the barley

Robert Dwyer Joyce

Kevin Barry

In Mountjoy jail one Monday morning High upon the gallows tree, Kevin Barry gave his young life For the cause of liberty. Just a lad of eighteen summers, Still there's no one can deny, As he walked to death that morning, He proudly held his head on high.

Chorus: Shoot me like an Irish soldier. Do not hang me like a dog, For I fought to free old Ireland On that still September morn. All around the little bakery Where we fought them hand to hand, Shoot me like an Irish soldier, For I fought to free Ireland

Just before he faced the hangman, In his dreary prison cell, British soldiers tortured Barry, Just because he would not tell. The names of his brave comrades, And other things they wished to know. Turn informer or we'll kill you Kevin Barry answered "No".

Another martyr for old Ireland, Another murder for the crown, Whose brutal laws may kill the Irish, But can't keep their spirit down. Lads like Barry are no cowards. From the foe they will not fly. Lads like Barry will free Ireland, For her sake they'll live and die.

Traditional