The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him, —
‘Land of song!’ said 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 chain
Could not bring his proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its clouds asunder;
And said, ‘No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery.’