Oh, it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise,
With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men;
With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes,
And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen!

And it’s back with the ring of the chain and the spur,
And it’s back with the sun on the hill and the moor,
And it’s back is the thought sets my pulses astir,—
But I’ll never go back to Farcalladen more!

Oh, it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise,
And it’s swift as an arrow and straight as a spear,
And it’s keen as the frost when the summer-time dies,
That we rode to the glen, and with never a fear.

And it’s hey for the hedge, and it’s hey for the wall,
And it’s over the stream with an echoing cry;
And there’s three fled for ever from old Donegal,
And there’s two that have shown how bold Irishmen die!

For it’s rest when the gallop is over, my men,
And it’s here’s to the lads that have ridden their last;
And it’s here’s to the lasses we leave in the glen,
With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past!