Belieber Barcelier
You may sing and speak of old Easter Week and the heroes of 98
Of the Fenian men who roamed the glen in victory or defeat
Their names on history's page are told their memory will endure
Not a song was sung of our darling sons in the valley of Knockanure
There was Walsh and Lyons and the
Dalton boys they were young and in their pride
They rambled to a lonely spot where the Black and Tans did hide
The Republic bold they did uphold though outlawed on the moor
And side by side they fought and died in the valley of Knockanure
'Twas on a neighboring hillside we listened with calm dismay
In every house in every town a maiden knelt to pray
They're closing in upon them now with rifle fire so sure
And Lyons is dead and Dalton's down in the valley of Knockanure
They took them then beside a fence to where the furze did bloom
Like brothers so they faced the foe to meet their dreadful doom
When Dalton spoke his voice it broke with passion proud and pure
For our land we die as we face the sky in the valley of Knockanure
The summer sun is setting now behind the field and lea
The pale, pale moon is rising far out beyond Tralee
The dismal stars and clouds afar are darkening o'er the moor
And the Banshee cried when our heroes died in the valley of Knockanure