The Dying Rebel

The night was dark and the fight was over
The moon shone down O’Connell Street
I stood alone where brave men perished
Those men have gone their God to meet

Curfá: 
My only son was shot in Dublin
Fighting for his country bold
He fought for Ireland and Ireland only
The Harp and Shamrock, Green, White and Gold

The first I met was a grey-haired father
Searching for his only son
I said “Old man, there’s no use searching
For up to heaven your son has gone”

Curfá

The old man cried out broken hearted
Bending o’er I heard him say
“I knew my son was too kind hearted
I knew my son would never yield”

Curfá

The last I met was a dying rebel
Bending low I heard him say
“God bless my home in dear Cork City
And bless the cause for which I die”

Curfá

An Laoch Ar Lár

Unique Word Count: 109

I Sráid Uí Chonaill tá an ré a' soilsiú 
San oíche dhorcha tar éis an áir
Is mé liom féin mar ar thit na laochra 
Is iad anois uaim ar neamh go hard.

Curfá:
I mBaile Átha Cliath sea d'éag m'aonmhac 
Ag cosaint Éireann le neart is cóir
Ar son a thíre, ar son na fíre
An chruit, an tseamróg, glas, bán is óir.

Is ann a bhuail liom a mháthair bhuartha 
Le taobh a haonmhic, ba bhocht a cás 
Sea duirt go bródúil 'Mo mhac bhi cróga, 
Fíorscoth na hóige nár ghéill go bás.'

Is ann a casadh domh an seanfhear aosta 
Ar thóir a aonmhic sa chuardach bhuan
Is ea dúirt me 'A thréanfhir, níl maith a shéanadh 
I bhflaitheas Dé tá do mhac faoi shuan.'

Is ann a casadh domh an fear óg loite 
Sea dúirt go bródúil, an laoch ar lár
'A Bhéal Feirste álainn, céad míle slán leat
Is slán le hÉirinn anois go brách.’