A life that is free as the bandit's of old,
When Rome was the prey of the warriers bold
Who knew how to buy gallant soldiers with gold,
Is the life, full of danger,
Of Jack the bushranger,
Of bold Donahue
If Ireland is groaning, a hand at her throat,
Which foreigners have from the recreants bought,
Forget not the lesson our fathers have taught.
Though our Isle's full of danger,
And held by the stranger,
Be brave and be true!
I've left the old Island's hospitable shores,
The land of the Emmets, the Tones, and the Moores,
But liberty o'er me her scalding tears pour,
And she points to the manger,
Where He was a stranger,
And perished for you.
Then hurl me to crime and brand me with shame,
But think not to baulk me, my spirit to tame,
For I'll fight to the last in old Ireland's name,
Though I be a bushranger,
You still are the stranger,
And I'm Donahue.
