Oh, see the fleet-foot host of men
Who march with faces wan
From farmstead and from fisher’s 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 Tuam today.
Up the narrow street he steps,
Smiling proud and young
About the hemp rope on his neck
His golden ringlets clung
There is never a tear in his blue eyes,
For clar and bright are they
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die
On the bridge of Tuam today.
When he last stepped up that street,
His shining pike in hand
Behind him marched in grim array
A stalwart earnest band
To Antrim Town, to Antrim Town,
He led them to the fray
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die
On the bridge of Tuam today.
There is never a one of all your dead
More bravely fell in fray
Than he who marches too his fate
In Tuambridge Town today
True to the last, true to the last
He treads the awkward way
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die
On the bridge of Tuam today.