Roddy McCorley
Ethna Carbery



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Oh, see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn
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From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Bann
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They come with vengeance in their eyes. Too late! Too late are they
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For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today


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Up the narrow street he stepped, so smiling, proud and young
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About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung
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There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, fearless and brave are they
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As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today



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When last this narrow street he trod, his shining pike in hand
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Behind him marched, in grim array, an earnest stalwart band
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To Antrim town! To Antrim town, he led them to the fray
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But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today



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There's never a one of all your dead more bravely died in fray
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Than he who marches to his fate in Toomebridge town today
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True to the last! True to the last, he treads the upwards way
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And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today