The Blacksmith of Cloghroe
Did you hear the anvil ring
At the forge of Sean Magee
The fire was burning brightly
And the sparks rose merrily
There all the neighbours gathered in
And mirth and laughter flowed
For the rebels hall of meeting
Was the forge of Sweet Cloghroe.

How we longed for Ireland’s Freedom
And our hearts were filled with pride
For the day was fast approaching
When from the mountain side
Brave men came down to lead us
To march against the foe
And to plant our country’s banner
On the green hills of Cloghroe.

Beneath the hob where brightly burned
The fire was sweetly laid
There many a polished rifle
And many a steely blade
We made our plans while flew the sparks
Beneath the sledges blow
For ’twas there we learned the soldiers drill
At the Forge of Sweet Cloghroe.

Now the tale is sad where the Smithy stood
The place is now gone green
And a grave in North Kilmurry
Holds the bones of Sean Magee
No more you’ll hear the anvil ring
No more the bellows blow
For Ireland lost a gallant man
The Blacksmith of Cloghroe.