Words by Sir Thomas Moore

The minstrel boy to the war has gone;
In the ranks of death you will find him
His father's sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;

Land of song cried 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 sword
Couldn't bring that proud soul under;
The harp he loved never spoke again,
For he tore its cords asunder;

He said, No chain shall sully thee,
No strength shall taint your bravery!
My songs remain for the young and free
They shall never sound in slavery!

The minstrel boy to the war has gone
In the ranks of death you will find him
His father's sword he has girded on
And his wild harp slung behind him

He said, No chain shall sully thee
No strength shall taint your bravery
My songs remain for the young and free
They shall never sound in slavery

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