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Swan Lake, Op. 20, TH.12, Act III: Danse russe

de Traditional

See the fleet foot host of men, that speed with faces wan
From farmstead and from fishers cot, along the banks of Bann
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 steps smiling, proud and young
About the hemp rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung
There was never a tear in his blue eyes, both sad and bright are they
For young Roddy McCorley 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 McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today

There was 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 McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today

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