'Twas [G] the eve of St.Patrick, at the [C] dawn of the [G] day,
The hills of Tirconnell, lay [C] slumbering and [D] gray.
The [G] first light of morning [C] illumined the [D] sky,
As [G] four Irish heroes were [C] lead forth to [G] die.
They were Enright, O'Donnell and Dawly by name,
From the counties of
While the gallant Stan Larkin from the banks of the Roe
Completes the four martyrs shot dead at Drumboe.
These four Irish soldiers were dragged from their cell,
For months they had suffered the torments of hell.
No mercy they asked from their merciless foe,
And no mercy was shown by the thugs at Drumboe.
Three left their homesteads in Kerry's green vale,
And one came from
But instead of true friends they met traitor and foe
And uncoffined were laid in the woods of Drumboe.
The church bells rang out in the cool morning air,
To summon the faithful to penance and prayer.
When a shot from the wild wood brought terror and woe
'Twas the death knell of Dawly, shot dead at Drumboe.
Let Tireconnel ne'er boast of her honour and fame,
All the waters of Finn will not wash out the stain.
While the Foyle and the Swilly continue to flow,
The stain will remain on the woods of Drumboe.