The Three Roads

There is a town in Ireland,
   A little town I know;
Its girls have tender Irish eyes
   Beneath their brows of snow;
And in the field around it
   The Fairy Hawthorns grow.

      O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
         And the daughter of a King,
      And amidst her branches green
         The sweet brown thrushes sing.

And from that little city
   Three roads forever run
And on those roads the people,
   The father and the son,
The mother and the daughter,
Walk till the day is done.

      O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
         And the daughter of a King,
      And amidst her branches green
         The thrushes sadly sing.

One road runs to the seaport
   Where stately vessels lie -
American, Australian -
   The weeping exiles cry,
Farewell to Grave and Hearthstone!
   Dear Ireland - good-bye!

      O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
         And the daughter of a King,
      And amidst her branches green
         'Farewell!' the thrushes sing.

One road it is a red, red road -
   That road to England goes;
The battle-drums are sounding,
   The trump of battle blows;
And Ireland's sons go forth to fight
   Against Red England's foes.

      O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
         And the daughter of a King,
      And within her heart of green
         The mournful thrushes sing.

One road it is a quiet road;
   They travel it full slow,
Their eyes are filled with sorrow,
   The silent folk who go
To where the Stones of Silence
   Are shining, row on row.

      O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
         And a Lady fair and grand,
      And the thrushes sing the keen
         Of the Dead - in Ireland.