Oh tell me dear Mary and why do you stray, Alone o'er the hills on this cold winter's day. 'Tis better by far near your
own kitchen fire, Than wander thus over the heights of Glanmire.
I mind not the winter's winds how they blow, There's a grave in Rathcooney to which I will ga. There's a grave in Rathcooney
beneath a tall tree, A lone grave, a loved grave, a dear grave to me.
In that grave in Rathcooney beside a stone wall, Though no lover lies there, ah! I loved him withal, For there all alone
where no cares can annoy, Lies dear Brian Dillon, the Bold Fenian Boy.
Lies young Brian Dillon, the brave and the good, Who fought the foul Sasanach below in the wood. Oh! I honour and love
them and pray for also Those brave Fenian men who fought long ago.
Kind-hearted, undaunted, high thoughtful of mind, You never met Fenian men mean or unkind. Ah! where will poor Ireland
again see the likes Of those high hearted rebels who carried the pikes.
When round in the churchyard the snow may be seen, And the pines in Rathcooney are waving and green. And the wheat fields
are golden in sorrow and joy, Come visit the grave of the dear Fenian Boy.
Who lacks his proud spirit, who thinks that no more Will the high hope of Freedom beat strong as before. That Ireland's
unworthy her right to enjoy
Come visit the grave of that dear Fenian Boy.