Green were the fields that were washed by the Finn.
Fair are the homesteads the spoiler lives in.
Oh, rich are the crops in the valley—ah, me!—
But the hearth is the home of the Wild Raparee.

There are dark clouds like mountains o'er Barnes tonight
As the hare seeks its den by the moon's feeble light,
The big heathery mountains as bleak as the sea.
'Twill be lonely tonight for the Wild Raparee.

Away over Barnes the winds rage and howl
As he creeps to his hiding amongst the wild fowl.
No cry greets his advent. No comrade has he.
God help the poor outlaw, the Wild Raparee.

Oh! who are these huntsmen so late in the storm?
What means that red glare? 'Tis the Queen's uniform.
God grant that awaken, protected be he.
There are hounds on the trail of the Wild Raparee.

'Tis morn, and the huntsmen returned from the flight
But the sword of the foremost is not in its sheath.
Its bright blade's all dripping with red blood to see.
On its point is the head of the Wild Raparee.