to free our right's again.
'Twas by Coenshel [?] we were bound
Our sons were sent to gaol
You need not fret we'll have home rule yet
Says poor old Granuaile.
V
I awakened from my slumber
excited with the fright.
I thought it was the clear daylight
I found it was only night.
I looked around I could not see
But the walls of a lonely [?]
and thats the last of saw
Of poor old Granuaile.

that ever my eyes have seen
I then drew near that I could hear
the pleasant morning gale
She went along and sung her song
Saying I'm poor old Granuaile.
III
I thought she had a splendid harp
by her side she let it fall
The tune she played was Brian Boru
Garryowen and To Tara's hall.
God save Ireland was the next
Our Martyrs died in gaol
"You need not fret we'll
have home [?] get"
Says poor old Granuaile
IIII
In O Connell's time in '29 you had not brave men
That struggled hard both day and night

I
Oh my dream comes true to you
As it did to me my country and Erins lovely shore.
I dream't I was upon a hill
Beside a lovely shore vale
The fairest soul I ever seen
and her name was Granuaile
II
Her lovely hair hung down her neck
And she was dressed in green
I thought she was the fairest soul

promotion on you smile.
like Wellington and Waterloo and Nelson on the Nile.
(St. Patrick speaks)
Yes! Prince George my valiant sons
Shall the British flag maintain
And shall firmly stand at your command
In safety may reign
We'll have pleasant days when parties cease
And friendships will unite
And Wellington you need not fear that threatening Muscovite.
Around each shore our guns shall roar
like rattling thunder peal
and our foes shall dread the British dead
And the sons of Granuaile
Tis for my life I value it not