O see the fleet-foot host of men Who march with faces drawn From farmstead and from fishers' cot Along the banks of Ban They come with vengeance in their eyes Too late! Too late are they For young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Toome today Up the narrow street he stepped So smiling, proud and young About the hemp-rope on his neck The golden ringlets clung There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes Fearless and brave are they As young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Toome today When last this narrow street he trod His shining pike in hand Behind him marched, in grim array A earnest stalwart band To Antrim town! To Antrim town He led them to the fray But young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Toome today There's never a one of all your dead More bravely died in fray Than he who marches to his fate In Toomebridge town today; ray True to the last! True to the last He treads the upwards way And young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Toome today