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(learned orally and from Lift Every Voice, edited by Irwin Silber)

(music to go here)

The minstrel boy has gone to war, in the ranks of death you'll find him.
His father's sword he's girded on, and his wild harp slung behind him.
    Land of love, quoth the warrior bard, though all the world betray thee,
    One sword alone thy rights shall guard, one harp alone shall praise thee.

The minstrel fell, but the foeman's chain could not bring his proud soul under.
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, for he tore its chords asunder.
    He said, No chains shall sully thee, thou soul of love and bravery!
    Thy songs were made for the pure and free, they shall never sound in slavery!

(from miriam berg's folksong collection)