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.