| 'Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman
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| A-plucking young nettles, she ne’er saw me coming
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| I listened a while to the song she was humming
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| Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men
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| 'Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beaming
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| On strong manly forms, on eyes with hope gleaming
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| I see them again, sure, in all my sad dreaming
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| Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.
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| When I was a young girl, their marching and drilling
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| Awoke in the glenside sounds awesome and thrilling
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| They loved dear old Ireland, to die they were willing
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| Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.
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| Some died by the glenside, some died near a stranger
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| And wise men have told us their cause was a failure
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| But they fought for old Ireland and never feared danger
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| Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men
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| I passed on my way, God be praised that I met her
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| Be life long or short, sure I’ll never forget her
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| We may have brave men, but we’ll never have better
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| Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men |