An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare,
An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare;
Be gorra, the whole world gev in to him there.
An' it's he was the boy that was hard to be caught,
An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought,
An' it's many the one can remember right well
The quare things he done: an' it's often heerd tell
How he lathered the yeomen, himself agin' four,
An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore.--
But the fox _must_ sleep sometimes, the wild deer _must_ rest,
An' treachery play on the blood iv the best.--
Afther many brave actions of power and pride,
An' many a hard night on the bleak mountain's side,
An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast,
In the darkness of night he was taken at last.
Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon,
For the door of the prison must close on you soon,
An' take your last look on her dim lovely light,
That falls on the mountain and valley this night;--
One look at the village, one look at the flood,
An' one at the sheltering, far-distant wood.
Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill,
An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still;
Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin' an' wake,
And farewell to the girl that would die for your sake.
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