A down by the Glenside I met and old woman,
A plucking young nettles nor saw I was coming,
I listened awhile to the song she was humming,
Glory O, Glory O, to the Bold Fenian Men.

;Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beamin;
On strong manly forms, on eyes with hope gleamin;
I see them again sure, thro; all my sad dreamin;
Glory O, Glory O, to the Bold Fenian Men.

As I was young, their marching and drillin;
Awoke in the glenside, sounds awesome and thrillin;
They loved poor old Ireland, to die they were willin;
Glory O, Glory O, to the Bold Fenian Men.

Some died by the glenside, some died mid the stranger
And wise men have told us their cause was a failure
But they stood by old Ireland and 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 my life long or short, I shall never forget her
We may have had good men but we’ll never have better
Glory O, Glory O, to the Bold Fenian Men
Glory O, Glory O, to the Bold Fenian Men