Blarismoor Tragedy, The 
Oh, Lord! Grant me direction To sing this foul transaction Which causes sad reflection Late done at Blarismoor. By wicked Colonel Barber Should I proceed much further, And call his conduct murder 'Twere treason I am sure. Belfast may well remember When tyrants in their splendour, In all their pomp and grandeur They hoist them on a car While cavalry were prancing And infantry advancing And glitt'ring armour glancing All in the pomp of war. 
They were of good behaviour No heroes e'er were braver But a perjured base deceiver He swore there lives away For the sake of golden store This villain falsely swore And the crime we now deplore In sorrow and dismay. Amidst a hollow square Well guarded front and rear With guns and bayonets there Their constancy to move When they received their sentence Their hearts felt no relentings They bowed to each acquaintance And kneeled to God above. 
Their foes held consultation To find our combination And then this exhortation Curs'd Barber did propose: "Arise from your devotion Take pardon and promotion Or death will be your portion Unless you now disclose." Some moments then they mused For their senses were confused But, smiling, they refused And made him this reply: "We own we are United Of death we're not affrighted And hope to be requited By Him who rules on high." 
The guns were then presented The balls their bosoms entered While multitudes lamented The shocking sight to see; Those youthful martyrs four Lay weltering in their gore  

Irish Song Lyrics 
from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
And the plain besprinkled o'er With the blood of liberty. In coffins they were hurried From Blarismoor were carried And hastily were buried 
While thousands sank with grief. Crying,"Grania, we much wonder You rise not from your slumber With voice as loud as thunder To grant us some relief."