The Croppy Boy — A Tragic Ballad of Betrayal, Courage & the 1798 Rising


The Croppy Boy is one of the most haunting and sorrow-filled rebel ballads to survive from the 1798 Rebellion.
It tells the personal story of a young Irish volunteer — a “croppy,” named for the cropped hair worn by the United Irishmen — who stands proud for Ireland, only to be betrayed, condemned, and executed.
Unlike the big broad histories of empires and armies, this ballad is intimate.
It speaks through the voice of one doomed man — and through him, it speaks for thousands.

The imagery in the lyrics is devastatingly direct.
The song begins in the bright freshness of spring — birds singing, Ireland seemingly alive with hope — but the mood shifts instantly as the Yeoman cavalry seize him and drag him before Lord Cornwall.
From there, the betrayal tightens like a noose: not only soldiers, not only magistrates, but his own kin turn against him.
A cousin sells his life for a single guinea.
A father denies him on the gallows.
His mother tears her hair in grief.
The tragedy is not just death — it is abandonment, shame, and the shattering of family under colonial pressure.

Like many rebel songs of 1798, the ballad captures the emotional truth that rebellion was not romantic at all — it was messy, terrifying, and full of impossible choices.
The boy could have taken the orange, the king’s colour, the safe side.
Instead, he chose green.
He chose Ireland.
And he died for it.

There is no triumphant ending — no battlefield victory — just a body in Duncannon, and a prayer:
“May the Lord have mercy on the Croppy Boy.”

That refrain is the reason this song endures.
It forces us to remember that Ireland’s fight for freedom was paid for not only by generals and leaders — but by ordinary boys who were willing to die for the dream of a free nation.

The Croppy Boy remains one of the most human rebel songs ever written — because every line aches with the sorrow of truth.




LYRICS

It was early, early all in the spring, The small birds whistling did sweetly sing. Changing their notes from tree to tree, And the song they sang was “Old Ireland’s free.”* It was early, early last Tuesday night, The Yeoman Cavalry gave me a fright; The Yeoman Cavalry was my downfall, When I was taken before Lord Cornwall. It was in his guard house I did lay, And in his parlor they swore my life away; My sentence passed and with courage low Unto Dungannon I was forced to go. And when I was marched through Wexford street, My cousin Nancy I chanced to meet; My own first cousin did me betray, And for one guinea swore my life away. When I was passing my father’s door, My brother William stood on the floor; My aged father stood at the door, And my aged mother her gray hair she tore. My sister Mary in great distress, She rushed downstairs in her mourning dress; Five thousand guineas she would lay down For to see me liberated in Wexford town. And when we were marching up Wexford hill, Who would blame me were I to cry my fill, With a guard behind and a guard before, But my tender mother I’ll see no more. And when I was standing on the gallows high, My aged father was standing nigh. My aged father did me deny, And the name he gave me was the Croppy Boy. I chose the dark and I chose the blue, I chose the pink and the orange, too. I forsook them all and I did deny, I wore the green and for it I’ll die. It was in Dungannon this young man died, And in Dungannon his body lies; And all good people that this way pass by, Say, “May the Lord have mercy on the Croppy Boy!”
Location: Ireland

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