Down by the Glenside

'Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman,
A-plucking young nettles, nor saw I was coming,
I listened a while to the song she was humming,
Glory O! Glory O! to the bold Fenian men.

'Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beaming,
On strong manly forms and on eyes with hope gleaming,
I see them again, sure, through all my day-dreaming,
Glory O! Glory O! to the bold Fenian men.

When I was a girl, their marching and drilling,
Awoke in the glenside, sounds awesome and thrilling,
They loved poor old Ireland and to die they were willing,
Glory O! Glory O! to the bold Fenian men.

Some died by the glenside, some died 'mid the stranger,
And wise men have told us their cause was a failure,
But they stood by 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 shall never forget her,
We may have brave men - but we'll never have better,
Glory O! Glory O! to the bold Fenian men.

Another classic from the pen of Peadar Kearney.