Town Of Athlone

	In the town of Athlone there's a young woman walking
	And wrapped ‘round her baby a shawl as she speaks
	Of the passing of rings to the uniformed soldiers
	The price of a ribbon their fortune to speak
	Ah their fortune she speaks and she speaks of a river
	Whose silvery barrows and moorlands beneath
	Where a gun battle raged and the hero for Ireland
	Soon would lie down dead, dead at her feet
	At the feet of the virgin in the grotto of Annah
	She sings to her baby in old styles bequeath
	As she lilts and laments and enchants all in hearing
	With songs of her people and melodies sweet
	(Chorus:)
	Sweet silvery Nore river is rolling
	Over an Irish soldier's grave
	And the vestry bells are tolling
	Over the ashes of his grave
	In the freeborn land of the traveling people
	Lies Nioclas Mullins the pride of Cullbawn
	Yet unmarked beside him the bride of his union
	Who carried our music in a black gypsy shawl
	(Chorus)

	In the town of Athlone there' s a young woman walking
	And wrapped ' round her baby a shawl as she speaks
	Of the passing of rings to the uniformed soldiers
	The price of a ribbon their fortune to speak
	Ah their fortune she speaks and she speaks of a river
	Whose silvery barrows and moorlands beneath
	Where a gun battle raged and the hero for Ireland
	Soon would lie down dead, dead at her feet
	At the feet of the virgin in the grotto of Annah
	She sings to her baby in old styles bequeath
	As she lilts and laments and enchants all in hearing
	With songs of her people and melodies sweet
	Chorus:
	Sweet silvery Nore river is rolling
	Over an Irish soldier' s grave
	And the vestry bells are tolling
	Over the ashes of his grave
	In the freeborn land of the traveling people
	Lies Nioclas Mullins the pride of Cullbawn
	Yet unmarked beside him the bride of his union
	Who carried our music in a black gypsy shawl
	Chorus