The Streets of Derry
My love, he is the finest young man
He is as fair as any the sun shone on
But how to save him I do not know it,
Since he’s been sentenced all to be hung.
As he was marched through the streets of Derry,
I’m sure he marched up right manfully
Being much more like a commanding officer
Than a man to hang upon the gallows tree.
“Oh where is my love? She’s so long a-coming
Oh what detains her so long from me?
Or, does she think it some shame or scandal
For a man to hang upon a gallows tree?”
He turned around, and he saw her coming
And she rode swifter than the wind,
“Stand back, stand back, you false prosecutors
For I’ve come to tell you that he will not die.”
Come down, my love, from those weary gallows,
For I’ve brought your pardon from the Queen—
I made them see that they may not hang you—
And I’ll crown my love with a bunch of green!”