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