When I came to your state, 'twas very late
'Bout 9 in the afternoon
The night being dark and me being strange
I knew not where to roam
I boarded a train, to West Rutland I came
Where the steam mill is always sawing
The beautiful stone, the like never was known
They call it the marble bawn

The Irish boys that fear no noise
Will stand on the rocks so brave
The sound of the drill will be never still
But echoing always in your ears
They'll stand in line like the wild geese flying
And they'll never be scolding or jawing
They're the very best boys that ever wore frays
For chipping the marble bawn

Now when you're dead and in your grave
With a stone at your head and feet
Your parents will lament and be discontent
And bitterly mourn and weep
Will be your doom to lie 'neath in your tomb
With a cross so bravely drawn
Your name enrolled and prayers for your soul
Engraven on the marble bawn

My song I'll end, success to each friend
That ere left the shamrock shore
May you live in peace with the Yankee race
And by each other be dearly adored
We are free in the land of liberty
No tyranny for us will be drawn
We'll sit at ease and sing the praise
Of West Rutland marble bawn

by James Kearny (late 19th century)