Hunting the Wren

Sharp is the wind

Cold is the rain

Harsh is the livelong day

Upon the wide open plain

By Donnelly's hollow

Under sad gorse and furze

There lies a young wren oh

By the saints she was cursed

The wren is a small bird

How pretty she sings

She bested the eagle

When she hid in its wings

With sticks and with stones

Among the small mounds

They come from all over

To hunt the wren on the wide open ground

With cold want and whisky

She soon is run down

Her body paradеd

On a staff through the town

Attacked in the villagе

And spat on in town

They come from all over

To hunt the wren on the wide open ground

They flock round the soldiers

In their jackets so red

For barrack room favours

Pennies and bread

The soldier is rough

In anger or fun

And he causes much bloodshed

With his big musket gun

The wren is a small bird

How pretty she sings

She bested the eagle

When she hid in its wings

With sticks and with stones

Among the small mounds

They come from all over

To hunt the wren on the wide open ground