| The moon it shone down on old Dublin town
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| When the deadly fight was o’er
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| Thousands lay on the cold cold ground
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| Their lives to claim no more
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| The moon shone on O’Connell Street
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| Where a dying young rebel lay
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| With his body gashed and his arms outstretched
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| And his life’s blood flowing away
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| A passing comrade heard the moans
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| The sufferer soon was found
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| Softly, gently he raised his head
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| Up from the cold cold ground
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| Softly, gently, «Comrade», he cried
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| «No longer on earth can I stay
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| I will never more roam through my own native home
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| Tipperary so far away»
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| His comrades gathered around him
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| To bid him a last farewell
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| He was as true and as brave a lad
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| That ever in battle fell
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| They dug a grave and in it they laid
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| The bones of Sean Treacy so brave
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| He will never more roam to his native home
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| Tipperary so far away |