day is your last;
Pray fast an' pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh,
When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die.
An' fasther an' fasther, the crowd gathered there,
Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair;
An' whiskey was sellin', and cussamuck too,
An' ould men and young women enjoying the view.
An' ould TIM MULVANY, he med the remark,
There wasn't sich a sight since the time of NOAH'S ark,
An' be gorry, 'twas thrue for him, for devil sich a scruge,
Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge,
For thousands were gathered there, if there was one,
Waitin' till such time as the hangin' 'id come on.

At last they threw open the big prison-gate,
An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state,
An' a cart in the middle, an' SHAMUS was in it,
Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute.
An' as soon as the people saw SHAMUS O'BRIEN,
Wid prayin' and blessin', and all the girls cryin',
A wild wailin' sound kem on by degrees,
Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees.
On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone,
An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on;
An' at every side swellin' around of the cart,
A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart.
Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand,
An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand;
An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes down on the ground,
An' SHAMUS O'BRIEN throws one last look round.
Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still,
Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turn chill;
An' the rope bin' ready, his neck was made bare,
For the gripe iv the life-strangling chord to prepare;
An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer,
But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound,
And with one daring spring JIM has leaped on the ground;
Bang! bang! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres;
He's not down! he's alive still! now stand to him, neighbours!
Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd,--
By the heavens, he's free!--than thunder more loud,
By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken--
One shout that the dead of the world might awaken.
The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that,
An' Father MALONE lost his new Sunday hat;
To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin,
An' the divil's in the dice if you catch him ag'in.
Your swords they may glitter, y