Genere:
Text by Thomas Moore
The minstrel boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you will find him
His father's sword he's girded on
And his wild harp slung behind him
"Land of Song" said the warrior bard
"Tho' all the world betrays thee
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard
One faithful harp shall praise thee"
The minstrel fell but the foeman's chains
Could not bring that proud soul under
The harp he loved never spoke again
For he tore its chords asunder
And said, "No chains shall sully thee
Thou soul of love and brav'ry
Thy songs were made for the pure and free
They shall never sound in slavery"
