Formerly in the Irish Packet
The minstrel boy to 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!” cried the warrior bard
“Tho’ every man betray thee
One sword, at least, thy ranks shall guard
One faithful harp shall praise thee!”
The Minstrel fell, but the foeman’s steel
Could not bring that proud soul under
The harp he loved ne’er spoke again
For he tore its chords 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!”[^14]