Written for Feargal O’Hanlon;  who was shot and killed with Sean South following a raid on Brookeborough Barracks, Co. Fermanagh, on January 1, 1957.  

The Patriot Game

Dominic Behan

Come on you young rebels, and list while I sing,
For the love of one’s land is a terrible thing,It banishes fear with the speed of a flame;
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.
  
My name is O’Hanlon, and I’m just gone sixteen,My home is in Monaghan, there I was weaned,
I was taught all my life cruel England to blame;
And so I’m a part of the patriot game.  
‘Tis barely two years since I wandered away,With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
I'd read of our heroes and wanted the same;
To play up my part in the patriot game.
  
They told me how Connolly was shot in the chair,
His wounds from the battle all bleeding and bare,
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame;
They soon made me part of the patriot game.
  
This Ireland of mine has for long been half free,
Six counties are under John Bull’s monarchy,And still DeValera is greatly to blame;
For shirking his part in the patriot game.
  
I don’t mind a bit if I shoot down police,They’re lackeys for war, never guardians of peace,But yet at deserters I'll never let aim;
Those rebels who sold out to the patriot game.
  
And now as I lie with my body all holes,
I think of those traitors who bargained and sold,
I’m sorry my rifle has not done the same;To those quislings who sold out, the patriot game.

Take it Down from the Mast

Traditional /Unknown

Take it down from the mast, Irish traitors,
The flag we republicans claim,
It can never belong to Free Staters,
You've brought on it nothing but shame.

Then leave it to those who are willing,
To uphold it in war or in peace,
The men who intend to do killing,
Until England's tyrannies cease.

You've taken our brave Liam and Rory,
You've murdered young Richard and Joe,
Your hands with our blood are still gory,
Fulfilling the work of the foe.

Well we stand with Enright and Larkin
With Daly and Sullivan bold
We'll break down the English connection
And bring back the nation you sold.

Take it down from the mast, Irish traitors,
The flag we republicans claim,
It can never belong to Free Staters,
You've brought on it nothing but shame.

(Tribute to the men and women of Easter Week, 1916. 

The battle fronts of Suvla and Sud El Bar in the 1^st World War were filled with the bodies of young Irish recruits to the British Army, sent to the front lines to die in droves; "that small nations might be free".)

The Foggy Dew

Fr. O'Neill

And down the glen one Easter morn; to a city fair rode I
When Ireland's lines of marching men; in squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum; and no battle drum, did sound it's brave tattoo
But the Angelus bells o'er the Liffey swells; rang out in the foggy dew.
  
Right proudly high in Dublin Town; hung they out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky; then at Suvla or Sud El Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath; strong men came hurrying through; 
While Brittania's huns with their long-range guns; sailed in through the foggy dew.
  
O the night fell black and the rifles' crack; made "Perfidious Albion" reel
'Mid the leaden hail, seven tongues of flame; did shine o'er the lines of steel 
By each shining blade, a prayer was said; that to Ireland her sons be true 
And when morning broke; still the war flag shook out its fold in the foggy dew. 
  
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go; that small nations might be free 
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves; or the fringe of the Great North Sea 
But had they died by Pearse's side; or had fought with Cathal Brugha 
Their graves we'd keep, where the Fenians sleep; 'neath the hills of the foggy dew. 
  
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell; rang mournfully and clear 
For those who died that Eastertide; in the springing of the year 
And the world did gaze, with deep amaze; at those fearless men, but few 
Who bore the fight; that Freedom's light, might shine through the foggy dew. 
  
Ah back through the glen I rode again; and my heart with grief was sore 
For I parted then with valiant men; whom I never shall see no more 
But to and fro in my dreams I go; and I kneel and pray for you; 
For slavery fled, O glorious dead; when you fell in the foggy dew.

(Kevin Barry was 18 years old and a medical student at University College, Dublin, when he was captured following an ambush on a British battalion on Church Street, on September 20^th, 1920; in which three British soldiers were killed.  When he refused to name his accomplices under torture at Mount Joy Prison, he was convicted of all three murders, and sentenced to death by hanging. He was executed on November1st, 1920. 

Sung to the tune of "Rolling Home to Dear Old Ireland")

Kevin Barry

(Unknown, in Glasgow, 1920)

In Mount Joy Jail one Monday morning; high on the gallows tree
Kevin Barry gave his young life; for the cause of liberty
Just a lad of eighteen summers; and no one can deny
As he walked to death that morning; he proudly held his head on high.
  
Just before he faced the hangman; in his dreary prison cell
British soldiers tortured Barry; just because he would not tell
The names of his brave companions; and other things they wished to know
"Turn informer or we'll kill you!'; Kevin Barry answered, "No!"
  
Calmly standing to attention; while he bade his last farewell
To his broken-hearted mother; whose sad grief no one could tell
For the cause he proudly cherished; this sad parting had to be
Then to death he walked, softly smiling; that old Ireland might be free.
  
Another martyr for old Ireland; another murder for the Crown
Whose brutal laws may kill the Irish; but can't keep their spirits down
Lads like Barry are no cowards; from the foe they will not fly
Lads like Barry will free Ireland; for her sake they'll live and die.

(This song dates from the 1840's, when thousands of young Irish men and women were sent on convict ships to Australia or Van Deimen's Land for resisting Britain's attempt to forcibly remove, under protection of armed guard, all remaining food in Ireland.   Trevelyan was the British minister at the time of the Genocide.)

The Fields Of Athenry

Traditional 

By a lonely prison wall
I heard a sweet voice calling,
"Danny, they have taken you away.
For you stole Trevelyan's corn,
That your babes might see the morn,
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay."

Chorus:
Fair lie the fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small freebirds fly.
Our love grew with the spring,
We had dreams and songs to sing
As we wandered through the fields of Athenry.

By a lonely prison wall
I heard a young man calling
"Nothing matters, Jenny, when you're free
Against the famine and the crown,
I rebelled, they ran me down,
Now you must raise our children without me."

(Chorus)

On the windswept harbour wall,
She watched the last star rising
As the prison ship sailed out across the sky
But she'll watch and hope and pray,
For her love in Botany Bay
Whilst she is lonely in the fields of Athenry
Whilst she is lonely in the fields of Athenry.

(Roddy McCorley of Antrim, an Ulster Protestant and Irish Republican;  was executed by hanging for his part in the 1798 Rebellion. His body was buried beneath the gallows.)

Roddy McCorley

Ethna Carbury (1866-1902)

Oh see the host of fleet-foot men; who sped with faces wan
From farmstead to 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
  
When he last stepped up that 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.
  
Up the narrow street 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.

(Henry Joy McCracken, an Ulster Protestant and founding father of Irish Republicanism; led Antrim against the British Army in the Rising of 1798.)

Henry Joy

William Drennan

An Ulsterman I am proud to be,
From the Antrim Glens I come,
Although I labour by the sea,
I have followed flag and drum.

I have heard the martial tramp of men;
I've seen them fight and die,
Ah! lads I well remember when
I followed Henry Joy.

I pulled my boat in from the sea,
I hid my sails away.
I hung my nets upon a tree
And scanned the moonlit bay.

The boys were out, the redcoats too,
I bade my wife good-bye,
And there beneath the greenwood glade
I followed Henry Joy.

Ah, lads, for Ireland's cause we fought
For home and sire we bled.
Though our arms were few, our hearts beat true
And five to one lay dead.

And many a lassie missed her lad
And mother mourned her boy,
For youth was strong in the dashing throng
That followed Henry Joy.

In Belfast town they built a tree
And the redcoats mustered there,
I watched him come as the roll of the drum
Sounded on the barrack square.

He kissed his sister, went aloft
Then waved a last good-bye
Ah ! lads he died, I turned and cried
They have murdered Henry Joy.

(Written at the time of the 1798 Uprising, the author was a  young Fenian who died in 1879 at age 24, suffering from the ill effects of his harsh treatment in prison.) 

The Rising Of The Moon

John Casey
(Air: The Wearin' Of the Green; traditional)

Oh! then tell me, Seán O'Farrell,
Tell me why you hurry so?
"Hush, mo buachaill, hush and listen,"
And his cheeks were all aglow.

"I bear orders from the Captain,
Get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together
By the rising of the moon."

Oh! then tell me, Seán O'Farrell,
Where the gathering is to be?
"In the old spot by the river
Right well known to you and me.

One word more for signal token,
Whistle up the marching tune,
With your pike upon your shoulder,
By the rising of the moon."

Out from many a mud-wall cabin
Eyes were watching through the night,
Many a manly breast was throbbing
For the blessed warning light.

Murmurs passed along the valleys
Like the Banshee's lonely croon,
And a thousand blades were flashing
At the rising of the moon.

There beside the singing river
That dark mass of men were seen;
Far above the shining weapons
Hung their own beloved green.

"Death to every foe and traitor!
Forward! strike the marching tune,
And hurrah, my boys, for freedom!
Tis the rising of the moon."

Well they fought for poor old Ireland,
And full bitter was their fate
Oh! what glorious pride and sorrow
Fill the name of Ninety-eight!

Yet, thank God, e'en still are beating
Hearts in manhood's burning noon,
Who would follow in their footsteps
At the rising of the moon!

(General Munroe, an Ulster Presbyterian in his early twenties; led the volunteer forces to victory against the British Army at Saintfield.  He was defeated and captured at Ballynahinch on June 13th, 1798, and hanged three days later.)

General Munro

Traditional

My name is George Campbell; at the age of eighteen
I joined the United Men to strive for the green,
And many a battle I did undergo
With that hero commander, brave General Munro.

Have you heard of the Battle of Ballinahinch
Where the people oppressed rose up in defence?
When Munro left the mountains his men took the field,
And they fought for twelve hours and never did yield.

Munro being tired and in want of a sleep,
Gave a woman ten guineas his secret to keep.
But when she got the money the devil tempted her so
That she sent for the soldiers and surrendered Munro.

The army they came and surrounded the place,
And they took him to Lisburn and lodged him in jail.
And his father and mother in passing that way
Heard the very last words that their dear son did say!

"Oh, I die for my country as I fought for her cause,
And I dont fear your soldiers nor yet heed your laws.
And let every true man who hates Ireland's foe
Fight bravely for freedom like Henry Munro."

And twas early one morning when the sun was still low,
They murdered our hero brave General Munro,
And high o'er the Courthouse stuck his head on a spear,
For to make the United men tremble and fear.

Then up came Munro's sister, she was all dressed in green,
With a sword by her side that was well-sharped and keen.
Giving three hearty cheers, away she did go
Saying, "Ill have revenge for my brother Munro."

All ye good men who listen, just think of the fate
Of the brave men who died in the year Ninety-Eight.
For poor old Ireland would be free long ago
If her sons were all rebels like Henry Munro.

(An ode to the Protestant, Ulster Presbyterian founding fathers of Irish Republicanism; martyrs to the cause of a United Ireland.)

Protestant Men

by Brian Warfield

It was back in history's page, the story's told
of a Napper Tandy brave and bold
With his scarlet and green, he then was seen
with his big long gun and his fighting men
And they beat at the drum, they fired their gun
and they shook the English establishment
And the Lords and the Peers they then put fears
and Grattan got his Parliament

(Chorus):
So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

In Belfast town there lived a man
and his name was Samuel Neilson
A minister's son, Presbyterian,
and the paper called The Northern Star
There was Henry Joy, the Green Volunteers
and Thomas Russell and McCabe and McTeir
And to them was known a man Wolfe Tone
and they formed the first United Men

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

So you sow your laws with dragons teeth and soon you'll see
that you've sowed the seeds of bigotry
Be England's fool divide they'll rule
so they set to break the United Men
And they killed them in the fields
and some in jail and some upon the gallows high
When Willie Orr died his very last cry was
"Unite and fight brave Irishmen"

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

Cast dissensions to the wind
let all men lend to the common name of an Irishman
For across history's page to rant and rage
men crossed the pails of bigotry
There was the men of '98 no sadder fate,
Lord Edward, Tone and the brothers Sheres
It was Emmet's plea in 18 and 3
when he tried to set our country free

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen.

(Joe Mc Donnell was born in Belfast on September 14, 1951. In 1970, he and his young wife were driven from their Lenadoon home by loyalist mobs. He was interned in 1973, and joined the IRA on his release.  In 1976 he was arrested with three other men, one of whom was Bobby Sands. All four men were charged with possession of the same unloaded revolver, and sentenced by a juryless Diplock court to fourteen years in prison each. In prison Joe immediately went onto the Blanket protest, rather than wear a convict's uniform. 
Following the death of Bobby Sands on May 5th, 1981; Joe Mc Donnell became the fifth volunteer to enter Hunger Strike. He would sacrifice his life in an effort to restore Political Status to Republican POWs at Long Kesh. 
Joe Mc Donnell began Hunger Strike on May 9th,1981; and died sixty-one days later on July 8th, 1981.) 

Joe Mc Donnell

Unknown

O my name is Joe Mc Donnell, from Belfast Town I came; 
that city I will never see again 
For in the town of Belfast I spent many happy days; 
Oh I love that town in oh so many ways. 
And it's there I spent my childhood and found for me a wife;  
I then set out to make for her a life.  
But all my young ambitions met with bitterness and hate;  
I soon found myself inside a prison gate. 
  
And you dare to call me a terrorist, while you look down your guns 
When I think of all the deeds that you have done; 
You have plundered many nations, divided many lands 
You have terrorized their people, you've ruled with an iron hand 
And you brought this reign of terror to my land. 

Through those many months' interment in the Maidstone and the Maze; 
I thought about my land throughout those days. 
Why my country was divided? Why I was now in jail?  
Imprisoned without cause or without trial. 
And although I love my country I am not a bitter man. 
I've seen cruelty and injustice at first hand. 
Then one fateful morning I shook bold freedom's hand. 
For right or wrong I tried to free my land. 
  
And you dare to call me a terrorist, while you look down your guns 
When I think of all the deeds that you have done; 
You have plundered many nations, divided many lands 
You have terrorized their people, you've ruled with an iron hand 
And you brought this reign of terror to my land. 
  
One cold October morning I was trapped in a lions den, 
I found myself in prison once again. 
I was committed to the H-Block for fourteen years or more; 
On the blanket, the conditions they were poor. 
Then a hunger strike we did commence for the dignity of man; 
But it seems to me that no one gave a damn. 
But now I am a saddened man, I've watched my comrades die; 
If only people cared or wondered why. 
  
And you dare to call me a terrorist, while you look down your guns 
When I think of all the deeds that you have done; 
You have plundered many nations, divided many lands 
You have terrorized their people, you've ruled with an iron hand 
And you brought this reign of terror to my land. 
  
May God shine on you Bobby Sands for the courage you have shown, 
May your glory and your fame be widely known. 
And Francis Hughes and Ray McCreesh; you died unselfishly. 
And, Patsy O'Hara; and next in line is me. 
And, all who lie behind me may your courage be the same. 
And, I pray to God my life is not in vain. 
  
And you dare to call me a terrorist, while you look down your guns 
When I think of all the deeds that you have done; 
You have plundered many nations, divided many lands 
You have terrorized their people, you've ruled with an iron hand 
And you brought this reign of terror to my land. 
  
  
Oh but sad and bitter was the year of 1981. 
For everything is lost; and nothing won. 
 

The Goal of Clonmel

(Traditional)

  
While the bright flow'rs are blowing; while the glad Spring is glowing,
My young life sworn away; in Clonmel Goal I lie.
  
From my bride broken hearted; from my friends harshly parted
For a crime not my own; doomed at daybreak to die.
  
Oh my love never more shall your fond arms embrace me
By cold chains they're replaced in the Goal of Cluan Meala.
  
The Convict of Clonmel

(Traditional)

How hard is my fortune, how vain my repining
The strong rope of death for this young neck is twining
My strength is departed, my cheeks sunk and sallow
While I pine in my chains in the jail of Cluan Meala.
  
No boy in the village was ever yet milder
I'd play with a child and my sport be no wilder
I'd dance without tiring, from morning 'til even
And my goal ball I'd strike 'til the lightning of heaven.
  
At my bedfoot decaying, my hurley is  lying
Through the lads of the village, my goal ball is flying
My horse 'mongst the neighbors, neglected may fallow
While I languish in chains, in the jail of Cluan Meala
  
Next Sunday the pattern at home will be keeping
All the young active hurlers the field will be sweeping
The dance of fair maidens, at evening will hallow
And this heart, once so gay, will be cold in Cluan Meala.

My Little Armalite

(To the air of "It's Home, Boys, Home")

And it's down in the Bogside, that's where I long to be,
Lying in the dark with a Provo company,
A comrade on me left and another on me right
And a clip of ammunition for my little Armalite.

I was stopped by a soldier, said he, You are a swine,
He beat me with his baton and he kicked me in the groin,
I bowed and I scraped, sure me manners were polite
But all the time I'm thinking of me little Armalite.

And it's down in Crossmaglen, sure that's where I long to be,
Lying in the dark with a Provo company,
A comrade on me left and another on me right
And a clip of ammunition for my little Armalite.

Sure a brave RUC man came up into our street
Six hundred British soldiers were gathered round his feet
Come out, ye cowardly Fenians, said he, come out and fight.
But he cried, I'm only joking, when he heard the Armalite.

Sure it's down in Kilwilkie, that's where I long to be,
Lying in the dark with a Provo company,
A comrade on me left and another on me right
And a clip of ammunition for my little Armalite.

Sure, the army came to visit me, 'twas in the early hours,
With Saladins and Saracens and Ferret armoured cars
They thought they had me cornered, but I gave them all a fright
With the armour piercing bullets of my little Armalite.

And it's down in the Falls Road, that's where I long to be,
Lying in the dark with a Provo company,
A comrade on me left and another on me right
And a clip of ammunition for my little Armalite.

When Tuzo came to Belfast, he said, The battle's won,
Said General Ford, We're winning sir, we have them on the run.
But corporals and privates on patrol at night,
Said, Send for reinforcements, it's the bloody Armalite.

And it's up in Ballymurphy, that's where I long to be,
Lying in the dark with a Provo company,
A comrade on me left and another on me right
And a clip of ammunition for my little Armalite.

Four Green Fields

Tommy Makem

"What did I have?", said the fine old woman
"What did I have?", this proud old woman did say
"I had four green fields, each one was a jewel
But strangers came and tried to take them from me
I had fine strong sons, they fought to save my jewels
They fought and died, and that was my grief" said she

"Long time ago", said the fine old woman
"Long time ago", this proud old woman did say
"There was war and death, plundering and pillage
My children starved by mountain valley and sea
And their wailing cries, they shook the very heavens
My four green fields ran red with their blood" said she

"What have I now?", said the fine old woman
"What have I now?", this proud old woman did say
"I have four green fields, one of them's in bondage
In stranger's hands, that tried to take it from me
But my sons have sons, as brave as were their fathers
My fourth green field will bloom once again" said she.

I.R.E.L.A.N.D.

Unknown Author  

Come all ye lads and lassies and sit you down with me,
And I will tell the truth about a land that`s dear to me,
You`ve read it in the papers and you`ve seen it on TV,
But I will spell it out for you, what Ireland means to me.

I is for internment of the innocent and free
R is for resistance to the laws of tryany
E is for the English who have torn our land apart
L is for the love of freedom in every Irish heart
A is for the answer we`re all searching for
N is for one nation and an end to this long war
D is for the dream of millions longing to be free.
That`s how I spell Ireland, that`s what Ireland means to me.

This land was once respected for it`s saints and scolars too
But now the bomb and bullet that`s all that makes the news
I know that it`s confusing and it`s hard to understand,
But I will spell it out for you by spelling Ireland

I is for internment of the innocent and free
R is for resistance to the laws of tryany
E is for the English who have torn our land apart
L is for the love of freedom in every Irish heart
A is for the answer we`re all searching for
N is for one nation and an end to this long war
D is for the dream of millions longing to be free.
That`s how I spell Ireland, that`s what Ireland means to me.