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'Twas in the town of Wexford they sentenced him to die,
'Twas in the town of Wexford they built a gallows high,
And there one sunny morning while beamed a pleasant dawn,
Upon that cursed gibbet they hung my Carroll bán.
O he was true and loyal, O he was proud and fair,
And only nineteen summers shone on his golden hair;
And when his gallant brothers had grasped the pike in hand,
Where the green flag streamed the fairest, he stood for his native land.
I saw him cross the heather with his bold company,
And from the rising hillside he waved his hand to me;
Then on my wild heart settled a load of woe and pain,
Mo bhrón it's throbbing told me we'd never meet again.
He fought the Saxon foemen by Slaney's glancing wave,
But brutal strength o'erpowered the gallant and the brave;
And in the fight which followed, that day of misery,
Sore wounded he was taken my Carroll bán mo chroi.
O fhíor ghéar that ever I saw the dreadful sight,
His locks all damply hanging and his cheeks a deadly white.
What wonder if my ringlets would change from dark to grey,
Or if the blessèd hand of God would take my life away.
The meadow path is lonely, and the hearth is cold and dim,
And the silent churchyard blossom blooms softly over him;
And my heart that's ever sobbing for the calm rest coming on,
With its weary pulse lies sleeping beside my Carroll bán.
