Ireland
In honour of Patrick and the Irish and my own Irish blood, I am posting the words to my favorite Irish Martyr song.

Roddy McCorely
See the fleet foot host of men
Who speed with faces drawn
From farmstead and from fisher's cot
Along the banks of Ban.
They come with vengence in their eye,
Too late, too late are they
For young Roddy McCorely, he goes to die
On the bridge of tomb today.

Up that narrow street he steps,
Smiling, proud and young
About the hemp rope on his neck
The golden ringlets flung.
There is never a tear in his blue eye,
Both bright and sad are they,
For young Roddy McCorely, he goes to die
On the bridge of tomb today.

When he last stepped up that street,
Shining pike in hand,
Behind him marched in grim array
A stalward marching band.
For Ireland! For Ireland!
He led them to the fray,
And young Roddy McCorely, he goes to die
On the bridge of tomb today.

Well there never was one of all your dead
More bravely fell in fray
Then he who marches to his fate
At the bridge of tomb today.
True to the last, true to the last,
He walks the upward way,
And young Roddy McCorely, he goes to die
At the bride of tomb today.