| See the host of fleet foot men
|
| Who sped with faces wan
|
| From farmstedt and from fishers cot
|
| Along the banks of Bann
|
| They come with vengeance in their eyes
|
| Too late, too late are they
|
| For young Roddy McCorley goes to die
|
| On the bridge of Toome today
|
| Up the narrow streets he steps
|
| Smiling proud and young
|
| About the hemp rope on his neck
|
| The golden ringlets clung
|
| There was never a tear in his blue eyes
|
| Both sad and bright are they
|
| For young Roddy McCorley goes to die
|
| On the bridge of Toome today
|
| When the last stepped up the street
|
| His shining pike in hand
|
| Behind him marched in grim array
|
| A stalwart earnest band
|
| For Antrim town, for Antrim town
|
| He led them to the fray
|
| And young Roddy McCorley goes to die
|
| On the bridge of Toome today
|
| There’s never a one of all your dead
|
| More bravely died in fray
|
| Than he who marches to his fate
|
| On the bridge Toome today
|
| True to the last! |
| True to the last
|
| He treads the upwards way
|
| And young Roddy McCorley goes to die
|
| On the bridge of Toome today |