The Minstrel Boy

To the tune of the old Irish air The Moreen.

• The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone
• In the ranks of death you will find him;
• His father's sword he hath girded on,
• And his wild harp slung behind him;
• "Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
• "Tho' 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 that proud soul under;
• The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
• For he tore its chords asunder;
• And said "No chains shall sully thee,
• Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
• Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
• They shall never sound in slavery!"

A third verse was added later:

• The Minstrel Boy will return we pray
• When we hear the news, we all will cheer it,
• The minstrel boy will return one day,
• Torn perhaps in body, not in spirit.
• Then may he play on his harp in peace,
• In a world such as Heaven intended,
• For all the bitterness of man must cease,
• And ev'ry battle must be ended.