THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY
I sat within a valley green,|
Sat me with my true love.
My poor heart strove the two between,
The old love and the new love.
The old for her, the new that made me
Think on Ireland dearly,
While soft the wind blew down the glen,
And shook the golden barley.
While sad I kissed away her tears,|
My fond arms around her flinging,
The foeman's shot burst on our ears
From out the wildwood ringing.
A bullet pierced my true love's side
In life's young spring so early,
And on my breast in blood she died
While soft winds shook the barley.
'Twas hard the woeful words to frame|
To break the ties that bound us.
But harder still to bear the shame
Of foreign chains around us.
So I said then, "The mountain glen
I'll seek at morning early,
And join the bold, united men
While soft winds shake the barley."
But blood for blood without remorse|
I've taken at Oulart Hollow
And laid my true love's clay-cold corpse
Where I full soon may follow.
As 'round her grave I wander drear,
Noon, night, and morning early,
With breaking heart when'er I hear
The wind that shakes the barley.
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