Luyện nghe bài hát The Bard of Armaugh

Oh! list to the strains of a irish harper
And scorn not the strings from his poor withered
Oh remember his could once move more sharper
To up the memory of his dear native land.

At fair or at wake I twist my shillelagh
Or trip throught he jig in my bound with straw;
And all the pretty maids in the and the valley,
their bold phelim brady, the bard of armagh

And sergeant daeth in his cold arms shall embrace me
And lull me to with sweet with sweet erin go bragh;
By the side of my kathleen, my young wife, oh then place me,
Then forget brady, the bard of armagh