Twas down by the glenside I met an old woman,
A-plucking young nettles, ah, she ne'er 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 heard the moon beaming,
On strong manly forms, oh, eyes with hope gleaming,
I see them again, sure through all my sad dreaming,
Glory-o, glory-o to the bold Fenian men."

"When I was a young girl, their marching and drilling,
Awoke in the glenside sounds awesome and thrilling,
For they loved poor old Ireland and to die they were willing
Glory-o, Glory-o, to the bold Fenian men."

"Some died by the glenside, some died by 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'll never forget her,
We may have brave 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.