Luyện nghe bài hát Patrick Sheehan

My name is Patrick Sheehan, and my years are
Tipperary is my native place, not far Galtymore;
I came of honest parents, but now they're low;
Though' many's the days we spent in the Glen of Aherlow.

My father died; I closed his eyes, the cabin door;
For the landlord and the sheriff too, there the day before,
And my lovin' mother, and my sisters three, also,
Were forced to go with broken hearts, from the Glen of

For long months, in search of work, I wandered far and near;
I then went to the poorhouse to see my dear;
The news I heard broke my heart, but still in all my woe,
I the friends who made their graves in the Glen of Aherlow.

Bereft of home and and kin, with plenty all around,
I starved within my cabin, and slept the ground;
But as my lot was, I never did hardship know,
Till I the English army, far away from Aherlow.

"Rouse up there," cried the corporal, "Ya lazy hound!
Why don't you the bugle, its call to arms to sound? "
I I had been dreaming of the days long, long ago,
And I woke Sebastopol, and not in Aherlow

I tried to my musket, how dark I thought the night!
O blessed God! It wasn't dark, it was the daylight!
And I found that I was blind, my tears began to flow,
And I longed for even a grave in the Glen of Aherlow.

A poor neglected mendicant, I Dublin's streets
My nine pension it being out, I beg from all I meet;
As I joined my tyrants, my face I can never show,
my dear old neighbors in the Glen of Aherlow.

So youths, dear countrymen, take heed in what I say;
For if you join the English ranks, surely rue the day
And you're tempted, a-soldiering to go.
Remember poor blind Sheehan the Glen of Aherlow.