Oh, see the fleet -foot host of men
From fisher cot, from mountain hut
Too late, too late are they
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die
On the bridge of Toon today
Along the narrow street he went
Both smiling, proud and young
Around the Emperor upon his neck
The golden ringlets clung
There was never a tear in the blue,
both dry and clear were they,
When young Rory Macaulay goes to die
on the bridge of Tombe today.
And when he last stepped up the street,
his shining pike in hand,
Behind him marched in Grimaldi
For Antrim Town, for Antrim Town
And young Rory Macaulay goes to die
On the bridge of Toon today
There was never the one of all your dead
Then he who goes in chains to die,
On the bridge of tomb today.
True to the last, true to the last,
He treads the upward way,
And young Rory Macaulay goes to die,
On the bridge of tomb today.
