The minstrel boy to the war has gone;
In the ranks of death you will find him
His father's sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;
"Land of song!" cried 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 sword
Couldn't bring that proud soul under;
The harp he loved never spoke again,
For he tore its cords asunder;
He said, "No chain shall sully thee,
No restraint shall taint your bravery!
My songs were made for the young and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!"
The minstrel boy to the war has gone
In the ranks of death you will find him
His father's sword he has girded on
And his wild harp slung behind him
He said, "No chain shall sully thee
No restraint shall taint your bravery
My songs were made by the young and free
They shall never sound in slavery!"