Oh see the fleet foot hosts of men,
Who speed with faces wan,
From farmstead and from thresher's cot
Along the banks of Ban.
They come with vengeance in their eyes,
Too late, too late are they,
For young Roddy M'Corley goes to die
On the Bridge of Toome today.
Up the narrow street he stepped,
Smiling and proud and young;
About the hemp rope on his neck
The golden ringlets clung.
There's never a tear in his blue eyes,
Both glad and bright are they,
As young Roddy M'Corley goes to die
On the Bridge of Toome today.
When he last stepped up that street
His shining pike in hand,
Behind him marched in grim array
A stalwart earnest band;
For Antrim Town; for Antrim Town;
He led them to the fray.
And young Roddy M'Corley goes to die
On the Bridge of Toome today.
There's never a one of all your dead
More bravely fell in fray,
Than he who marches to his fate
On the Bridge of Toome today.
True to the last, true to the last,
He treads the upward way,
And young Roddy M'Corley goes to die
On the Bridge of Toome today.