| Through Benedy Glen oft at eve have I wandered
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| With a heart that is lighter than the dew of the morn
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| Her heather-clad mountains and clear crystal fountains
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| Delightful to view by the light of the dawn
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| I see her green hills and swift-running streamlets
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| Eternally flowing right on to the sea
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| By her side I lie down on a bank of blue violets
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| And it’s murmuring and gurgling are music to me
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| In far foreign lands oft do her sons wander
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| By Niagara Falls or the Prairie Grand
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| Where nature is seen both majestic and savage
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| But their hearts are at home in their dear native land
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| They long to return to the banks of the Lena
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| The Roe and it’s branches on every side
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| Where there lies brave Cooey, that once-mighty chieftain
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| Who once 'gainst the Saxon defended with pride
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| Her daughters are fair and her sons, they are gallant
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| They scorn the tyrant, the serf or the slave
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| Their rights they maintain at the point of the bayonet
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| With an arm that is strong and a heart that is brave
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| In an abbey not far from the town of Dungiven
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| Their spirit hovers over that once much-loved soil
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| Where there lies brave Cooey, that once-mighty chieftain
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| Who commanded of yore from the Bann to the Foyle
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| His statue disfigured by base alien mongrels
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| His name oft impaired by unscrupulous foes
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| Yet his soul shines in glory 'mid choirs of angels
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| As his body lies moldering on the banks of the Roe
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| Long may she prosper 'neath her sheltering mountains
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| Carntogher, Benbradagh and surrounding hills
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| From calamity and famine, great heaven, defend them
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| And grant them contentment 'neath their clear purling rills |