We’re assembled in New York exiles all from Rebel Cork,
And we’re proud of the flag that o’er us waves.
But to-night our mem’ries turn to the spot where we were born,
To the dear old town that never nursed a slave

Chorus:
UP! UP! Newmarket say the exiles,
UP! UP! Newmarket say they all.
Whether we shall here remain or return home again,
May Newmarket always rise but never fall.

In the lovely Island Wood where with pride we often stood,
Gazing on the scenic beauty all around.
And its rambling up Scarteen, Barleyhill and Meens between,
Oh! What pleasure and contentment there we found.

(Repeat Chorus after each verse)

Boston boasts of Bunker Hill; brave men fought at Gettysville.
Newmarket too, has honours like the rest.
Here ‘t was Curran first drew breath; after Emmet’s tragic death
They laid his sweetheart Sarah here to rest.

When the beagles’ bugle horn woke the hills on Sunday Morn
Brennan and Pat Williams made the pace.
How the hounds would yelp and howl, run their chase into the ground!
And we followed in the rapture of the chase.

And when after ’98 the Croppies were all bate,
The Whiteboys held their ground on Scarteen Hill.
Three brave priests were martyred there and and their last words were a prayer
For the land they fondly loved and we love still.

by Dan O’Connell

Dan O’Connell, a native of the Island, wrote the ballad while in exile in New York.