Rebel On The Run

“I’ve had a hard time finding you, because you keep moving; if you keep moving, that means you’re running; and if you’re running, that means they’re after you, which means that you must be doing something right.”—Anonymous.

“There was a bold Tipperary boy,

From the Glens of Aherlow,

He sang the song of his country’s wrong,

Where the lovely Anner flows,

And as he took me by the hand,

His happy home to leave,

Forced by England’s treachery,

To fill a Rebel’s grave.

Goodnight my honest neighbour,

I’ll call to see you soon,

For tonight I’m on to Slievenamon

Where brightly shines the moon,

I’ll seek the woods of sweet Glenbower,

Or in some rock or cave,

For glory and for Ireland’s sake,

To fill a Rebel’s grave.

For six long weary months he roamed

The rocky mountain side,

The heather for his pillow, and by his friends supplied.

And as he roamed, outlawed from home,

From rise ’till set of sun,

At night he’d steal down wood and glen,

A Rebel on the run.

A traitor crept among us,

And the cause it soon was sold,

To the hirelings of the British Queen,

For the greedy Saxon gold.

But Fenian men will rise again,

Their country’s soul to save,

And strike a blow for liberty,

And fill a Rebel’s grave.

A British soldier caused his death,

By a rifle shot he fell,

The red-brown heath, if it could speak,

His bravery would tell.

A Saxon soldier he laid low,

In the gallant fight he made,

And now he sleeps in old Kilcash,

And fills a Rebel’s grave.”—John Ryan.

Source; “The Second Book of Irish Ballads”, James N. Healy.

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