| At Boulavogue as the sun was setting
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| On the bright May meadows of Shelmaliar
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| Our rebel hand set the heather blazing
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| And brought the neighbours from far and near.
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| Then Father Murphy from old Kilcormack
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| Spurred up the rocks with a warning cry
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| «Arm, arm», he cried, «for I’ve come to lead you,
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| For Ireland’s freedom we’ll fight and die»
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| He led us on 'gainst the coming soldier,
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| The cowardly yeomen we put to flight
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| It was at the Harrow the boys of Wexford
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| Showed Bookies' regiment how men could fight
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| Look out for hirelings, King George of England,
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| Search ev’ry promentory where breathes a slave
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| For Father Murphy from the County Wexford
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| Sweeps o’er the land like a mighty wave
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| At Vinegar Hill o’er the pleasant Slaney
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| Our heroes vainly stood back to back
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| And the Yoes at Tullow took Father Murphy
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| And they burned his body upon the rack
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| God grant you glory, brave Father Murphy,
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| And open heaven to all your men
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| For the cause that called you may call tomorrow
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| In another fight for the green again |