The judge said "Stand up, lad, and dry up your tears
You're sentenced to Dartmoor for twenty-one years"
So dry up your tears, love, and kiss me good-bye
The best friends must part, love, so must you and I

The noble and brave have departed our shore
They've gone to a land where the wild canyons roar
No more they'll see shamrock, the plant dear to me
Or hear small birds singing around sweet Tralee

No more will sun shine on that bless'd harvest morn
Or hear reapers sing in a gold field of corn
There's balm for each woe and cure for each pain
But the joy of my darling I'll ne'er see again

Words and tune from Folk Songs and Ballads Popular in Ireland, Vol. 4, Ossian Publications, 1989. Sequenced by Tom Connole.

21years.htm 9/6/99