Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman

She was picking young nettles and she scarce saw me coming

I listened a while to the song she was humming

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men



'Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beaming

On strong manly forms and their eyes with hope gleaming

I see them again, sure, in all my daydreaming

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.



Some died on the glenside, some died near a stranger

And wise men have told us that their cause was a failure

They fought for old Ireland and they never feared danger

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men



I passed on my way, God be praised that I met her

Be life long or short, sure I'll never forget her

We may have brave men, but we'll never have better

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men