Mary of Curracloe

You muses inspire with heroic fire
The name of your poet that he might indite
And with mirth and with candor and poetic grandeur
The name of County Wexford men's praises to write
O tis well I remember the month of September
In 1827 when six boats did row
For a prize they contended and when it was ended
They carried the laurels to sweet Curracloe

That the crew were matched equal you'll find in the sequel
And each boat was manned with the best of the men
Likewise in formation to make preparation
And avoid litigation when the race would begin
Then with full satisfaction our boat was in action
Awaiting a signal as all had agreed
And we were in motion when loud an explosion
Announced oer the ocean that we might proceed

From Blackwater they started but soon they were parted
For the Curracloe boys left them all in arrears
With judgment undaunted each man of fame panted
Being equally anxious their laurels to wear
To the brook they rowed valiant, stouthearted and gallant
And back they came swiftly without much delay
Our famous steam packet with her speed and her racket
She would show them clean heels were she out on that day

Now tis not my intention each boat crew to mention
For to breed contention is not my design
But the Trojan race famous that was won by Pertunius
In my best opinion was not half so fine
But to leave out those strangers, their actions and dangers
Of the Curracloe boys I now aim to sing
The pride of Hibernia and true sons of Grainne
With heroic valor the prize home did bring

Now I'm not sufficient to praise them sufficient
And in no way proficient in poetic style
But were I a Homer I'd think it an honor
Their fame to make known throughout Erin's isle
Jack Murphy whose courage was undaunting and glorious
With judgment and skill the helm did wield
Like his ancestors numerous who once were victorious
By land or by sea to the foe neer did yield

Now I'm not unwillin to praise Tom and William
Two more of the Murphys, both stout hearty boys
Likewise Thomas Carty, courageous and hearty
He was one of the party to bring home the prize
Dick Neville was in it, so was Anthony Sinnott
Both equal determined to bring down the foe
And also Mug Doyle, who proved true and loyal
Now these were the heroes from famed Curracloe

Of the resident gentry that dwells in this country
The fame of young Turner forever will shine
But for his exertions the envious assertions
Of mischievous persons would have us resign
He encouraged the men to take part in the boat race
So also did Scallan and Ross his good friends
He encouraged them all for to give of their best pace
The Mary was first and sure there the race ends

Now the crew that were second and third I won't mention
They gave of their best, but sure everyone knew
That they hadn't a chance though they tried hard to tame them
And they couldn't keep step with the Curracloe crew
So come fill up your glasses to all pretty lasses
And we'll toast them in bumpers wherever we go
And we'll fill the full gallon in the house of young Scallan
And drink health to the heroes from famed Curracloe

Cloghamon's Brand New Mill

You gods of brilliant genius that's endowed with elocution
And by versification have immortalized your name
Revive my drooping intellect, I crave a contribution
Of assistance while I harmonize with eloquence my theme
Forgive me not for rashness to attempt impossibilities
Though I am stimulated by a motive of goodwill
Though an inexperienced tyro in the dawn of native literature
I intend to state the praises of Cloghamon's brand new mill

This magnificent structure of divine architecture
We built in anno domini eighteen and sixteen
When by final perseverance it was brought to an accomplishment
Its like was seldom ever seen in Erin the green
To give a good idea about its spaciousness and symmetry
Is far beyond the limits of my feeble poet's pen
But in every direction tis a bulwark of perfection
Hibernia's boast and glory is Cloghamon's brand new mill

No wonder I should deem it an object of astonishment
When men of great discernment came from near and far
To view this lofty building, of which it is related
That it was prognosticated by a great fiery star
These grand configurations, the beauty of creation,
Was brought to calculation by astronomical skill
Twas perspicuously expounded and foretold there would be founded
Near the town of Newtonberry an admirable mill

Now the gentry of this country, for rural recreation,
The sweet meandering banks of the Slaney do serenade
Where the beauties of nature are arranged in true reality
And thw white trout is abounding in each crystal cascade
When on this lofty building you feast your curiousity
And view each grand invention of artifice and skill
The critical machinery and curious elevation
Obtained great approbation for Cloghamon's brand new mill

The Old Sunday Dinner

Sweet, fragrant and gay were the dear days departed
It carries me back to the land of my dream
When I was a young man, both gay and lighthearted
And cares came and went like the happy moonbeam
O tis well that I know, and I'll always remember,
The little thatched cottage and turf fire aglow
The peace and goodwill and the month of December
And the old Sunday dinner a long time ago

Refrain:
Our table was set with the best we could boast of
And our bread was as light as the first fall of snow
There was plenty for twenty and we made the most of
The old Sunday dinner a long time ago

When Saturday night came my father and mother
Would each go to market but would not stay long
And I would be left in the care of my brother
And he, the poor fellow, would sing me a song
And when they'd return with baskets oerflowin
We'd each get an apple and wantin to know
What we'd have for dinner, what hints they'd be throwin
At the old Sunday dinner a long time ago

(Refrain)

O tis many's the year since I last saw that cottage
That shelters my brothers, my sisters and all
The fiddles, the flutes and melodeons were ringin
It all seems so sad now but sweet to recall
But the old folk are gone and the fiddles lie idle
No more on the hearthstone the dancers will go
My brothers are scattered but I'm sure they'd remember
The old Sunday dinner a long time ago

(Refrain)

Sweet Patricia

I dreamt I had the wings to fly and wandered through the air
When sudden thoughts of love conspired I flew to County Clare
And round the sky did circle high and shout aloud from view
Patricia, my Patricia, Patricia where are you?

Patricia agus gr· mo chroÌdhe is my lost lady's name
But absentmindedness prevents me knowin whence she came
She well may live in splendor in some well-designed abode
Or dwell in humble circumstance in a cabin by the road

O where are you, my darlin, tell me where do you reside
Up the air mountain slopes or by the oceanside
Across the wild and rugged Burren, mid nature's bloomin throng
O Patricia, sweet Patricia, tell me where do you belong?

Does the sun shine through your window and on your lovely face
Which nature's care and favor has fashioned with such grace
And does the music of the birds sound cheerly round your door
And remind you of the music plyed so sweetly by the (?)

O if I could find you, darlin, I would buy for you a gown
I'd dance you through the meadow and I'd gently sit you down
With a warm embrace set nature a pace when in my arms you entwine
And with kisses sweet we would retreat to where true love reigns sublime

My mind is discontented and constantly anew
And plans with Mary Margaret McGrath are now subject to review
This heart of mine will now wilt and pine till my search for you is oer
O Patricia, sweet Patricia, come out wavin to your door

Alas I'm only daydreamin with no trace of reality
But if the good Lord willed it so then I'd gladly let it be
For in all my flights of fancy fonder dreams I cannot embrace
Than to steal you from the County of Clare and never leave a trace

Continuation Song

O when will we get married, my dear and darlin lad?
Tomorrow or the next day, I think it won't be bad.
And will we get married no sooner, my dear and darlin lad?
Do you want to be married this minute? O woman you must be mad.

And who will we have at the wedding, my dear and darlin lad?
Our fathers and our mothers, I think it won't be bad.
And will we have no more than that, my dear and darlin lad?
Do you want the whole country around you? O woman you must be mad.
And what will we have for breakfast, my dear and darlin lad?
Scalded potatoes and buttermilk, I think it won't be bad.
And will we have no finer, my dear and darlin lad?
Do you want to be poisoned with sugar? O woman you must be mad.

And where will we sleep the first night, my dear and darlin lad?
A bundle o straw in the corner, I think it won't be bad.
And will we have no better, my dear and darlin lad?
Do you want to be smothered in feathers? O woman you must be mad.

And how many children will we have, my dear and darlin lad?
Five or six maybe seven, I think it won't be bad.
And will we have no more than that, my dear and darlin lad?
Do you want the whole house full around you? O woman you must be mad.

Kevin Barry

Come all you true-bred Irishmen and listen to me a while
And I'll tell you what England's government are doin in Erin's isle
They're sendin their soldiers and Black and Tans, likewise the R.I.C.
To condemn to death every Irishman who loves his countrie

It was on the first of November at eight o'clock the time
They hanged this brave young Irishman who was scarcely in his prime
He marched up to the scaffold high without a mourn or sigh
And he said he'd die ten thousand times to free his native isle

His name it was Kevin Barry and his age it was scarce 18
He was the truest Irishman that ever yet was seen
He died just like an Irishman, he died for liberty
And he fell in Mountjoy prison high upon the scaffoldry

Now the nations of the earth were shocked what England tried to do
To go and hang this great young man who was so loyal and true
They said they would try and do their best to have his sentence changed
And appealed to the British government his fine young life to save

O but when Lord George he heard of this he gave his cruel reply
That the government had decided this great young man must die
He had offended Britain and he thought it was high time
To condemn to death every Irishman found guilty of such a crime

O God rest you, Kevin Barry and the men of Easter Week
And to those who died on hunger strike, of them I also speak
Their names will be remembered when Ireland yet is free
As the men who died and gave their lives for Irish liberty

O Irish men and women too who love your native land
Don't be afraid, don't be ashamed a republic to demand
Think of those men who died for you, they did not die in vain
But they died and tried to make this isle a nation once again

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