The minstrel boy to 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 that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords a sunder;

And said, " No chain shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery;
Thy songs were made for he pure and free;
They shall never sound in slav'ry."

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