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The minstrel bo-y to the war is gone,
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In the ranks of de-ath yo-u'll find him;
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His father's swo-rd he hath girded on,
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And his wild harp slu-ng be - hind him;
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"Land of Song!" cried the war-rior bard,
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"Tho' all the world be-tra-ys thee,
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One sword, at le-ast, th-y rights shall guard,
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O-ne faithful ha-rp sha-ll praise thee!"