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They lost! But O! They conquer These men who their land would save A firing party at break of day. And a tasty quick-lime grave.
But think not of them with scorn Nor mourn for the cause they died This death saved Ireland's honour What mattered all else beside.
We've been told twas a failure by those that ne'er understood How the new born soul of Erin was baptised in martyrs' blood And to all who crave for freedom, as the world its meaning know, I give them this little story The story of Glorious Easter Week.
Verse by T. P. Duke transcribed by Tomás Ó Dúigh (Clare), Rath Camp:
'The Strike Act 1 A rush. A cheer. A bursting of doors with bedboard or with spike Locks flying in Air, Ah! it's the Boys in camp have gone on strike The Guard called out their wind is up in vain they bawl and shout but the Boys don't seem to mind them in groups they walk about.'
'We meet again, the master and the student The one a sadder but a wiser man, the other still imprudent But age and youth, have one same thought That Erin's soul shall ne'er be bought. Soon may her Freedom's star arise And soon may be her foe's demise. Then you and I from fetters free Shall haste to Leix and Offaly. But we together shall come again As free, unfettered, unshackled men. And then we'll fill and quaff the glass That ours and Erin's dawn has come at last.'