(Patrick Augustine Sheehan / Trad)
After Aughrim's great disaster
When the foe in sooth was master
Twas you that first rushed in and swam
The Shannon's fearful flood
And through Slieve Bloom's dark passes
You wove your gallowglasses
Although the hungry Saxon wolves
Were howling for our blood
And as you crossed Tipp'rary
You rised the Clann O'Leary
And drove a creach before them
As their horsemen onward came
Through flood and light we gored them
As with our swords and spears we bored them
Ah, but Sean O Duibhir an Ghleanna
We were worsted in the game
Long, long we kept the hillside
Our couch hard by the rill-side
The sturdy knotted oaken bough
Our curtain overhead
The summer's blaze we scoffed at
The winter snows we laughed at
And trusted in our long steel swords
To win us daily bread
Till the Dutchman's troops came round us
With fire and sword they bound us
They fired the woods and mountains
Till the very clouds were flame
Yet our sharped swords cut through them
In their very hearts we hewed them
Ah, but Sean O Duibhir an Ghleanna
We were worsted in the game
Here's a health to your and my king
To the monarch of our liking
And to Sarsfield underneath whose flag
We'll cast once more a chance
For the morning dawn will wing us
Across the seas and bring us
To take our stand and wield a brand
Among the sons of France
And though we part in sorrow
Still Sean O Duibhir an Ghleanna
Our cry is, God save Ireland
And pour blessings on her name
May her sons be true and needed
May they never feel as we did
Ah, but Sean O Duibhir an Ghleanna
We were worsted in the game
(as sung by Mick West)