The Thief And Cordelier. A Ballad
To the tune of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.
Who has e'er been at Paris must needs know the Greve,
The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave,
Where honour and justice most oddly contribute
To ease heroes' pains by a halter and gibbet.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
There death breaks the shackles which force had put on,
And the hangman completes what the judge but begun;
There the Squire of the Pad and the Knight of the Post
Find their pains no more baulk'd and their hopes no more cross'd.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Great claims are there made, and great secrets are known,
And the king, and the law, and the thief, has his own;
But my hearers cry out, What a deuce dost thou ail?
Cut off thy reflections, and give us thy tale.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
'Twas there then in civil respect to harsh laws,
And for want of false witness to back a bad cause,
A Norman, though late, was obliged to appear,
And who to assist but a grave cordelier?
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
The Squire, whose good grace was to open the scene,
Seem'd not in great haste that the show should begin,
Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart,
And often took leave, but was loath to depart.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
What frightens you thus, my good son? says the priest?
You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confest.
O Father! my sorrow will scarce save my bacon,
For 'twas not that I murder'd but that I was taken.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Pough! pr'ythee ne'er trouble thy head with such fancies;
Rely on the aid you shall have from Saint Francis;
If the money you promis'd be brought to the chest,
You have only to die, let the Church do the rest.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And what will folks say if they see you afraid?
It reflects upon me as I knew not my trade:
Courage, Friend, for to-day is your period of sorrow,
And things will go better believe me to-morrow.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
To-morrow, our hero reply'd, in a fright,
He that's hang'd before noon ought to think of to-night;
Tell your beads, quoth the priest, and be fairly truss'd up,
For you surely to-night shall in Paradise sup.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Alas! quoth the Squire, howe'er sumptuous the treat,
Parbleu! I shall have little stomach to eat;
I should therefore esteem it great favour and grace
Would you be so kind as to go in my place.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
That I would, quoth the Father, and thank you to boot,
But our actions, you know, with our must suit;
The feast I proposed to you I cannot taste,
For this night, by our Order, is marked for a fast.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then turning about to the hangman, he said,
Despatch me, I pr'ythee, this troublesome blade,
For thy cord and my cord both equally tie,
And we live by the gold for which other men die.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Related quotes
There was an Old Derry down Derry,
Who loved to see little folks merry;
So he made them a Book,
And with laughter they shook,
At the fun of that Derry down Derry!
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
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The Song Of The Driver
(after Lorca)
Over ice, down hills,
Blue car, pale moon,
Love is calling me
To a fireside in Derry.
(Chorus)
Oh Derry, Derry, Derry,
My own lovely Derry
The capital of the north
West of Erin.
Sure the journey is long
But the car it is sound
As I drive over hills
And through valleys.
(Chorus)
The journey I know well
For I've covered it before
On my way to the
Oak Grove of Erin.
(Chorus)
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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A Derry on a Cove
’Twas in the felon’s dock he stood, his eyes were black and blue;
His voice with grief was broken, and his nose was broken, too;
He muttered, as that broken nose he wiped upon his cap—
‘It’s orfal when the p’leece has got a derry on a chap.
‘I am a honest workin’ cove, as any bloke can see,
‘It’s just because the p’leece has got a derry, sir, on me;
‘Oh, yes, the legal gents can grin, I say it ain’t no joke—
‘It’s cruel when the p’leece has got a derry on a bloke.’
‘Why don’t you go to work?’ he said (he muttered, ‘Why don’t you?’).
‘Yer honer knows as well as me there ain’t no work to do.
‘And when I try to find a job I’m shaddered by a trap—
‘It’s awful when the p’leece has got a derry on a chap.’
I sigh’d and shed a tearlet for that noble nature marred,
But, ah! the Bench was rough on him, and gave him six months’ hard.
He only said, ‘Beyond the grave you’ll cop it hot, by Jove!
‘There ain’t no angel p’leece to get a derry on a cove.’
poem by Henry Lawson
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I grew up in Derry, of course, and it was - Derry was the worst example of Northern Ireland's discrimination.
He Often Thinks Of Rosie
He often thinks of Rosie where might she be today?
Is she still back home in Derry from here long miles away
For three years they were an item but for them things did not work out
As often can happen in love affairs between one from a Northern Land and one from a Land in the far South.
He did not wish to live over there and in Melbourne she would not stay
Nostalgia won out over love or so 'twould seem that way
She went back home to Derry though he had asked her to become his wife
Young Rosie she was homesick a natural thing in life.
His wife and he have parted ways they have a year old son
The love died in their marriage he is not the first or he won't be the last one
To know of marriage failure such is life I do suppose
Yet his greatest love will always be the lovely brown haired Derry Rose.
He often thinks of Rosie they parted ways six years ago
He loved her and he always will though apart they did grow
Nostalgia won out over love in their case anyway
She went back home to Derry and home in Melbourne he did stay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Songs The Minstrel Sang
Its almost over its almost done
And you cant put the blame on anyone
Its almost easy and its almost fun
Did you get caught with your britches on
Hi derry day in the month of may
Was the song the minstrel sang
To the good of robin hood
Maid marion and all the gang
His aim was mean and his shot was clean
And his suit was the shade of evergreen
The folks he knew hadnt naught to fear
When the sheriff was there they were over here
Hi derry doon in the month of june
Was the song the minstrel sung
To the good of robin hoods
Good name and a place to run
He loved strong ale and a run down jail
Was the kind of a scene where he never failed
There was no man on the sea or land
Who could get maid marion on the trail
Hi derry day in the month of may
Was the song the minstrel sang
To the good of robin hood
Maid marion and all the gang
Its almost over its almost done
And you cant put the blame on marion
She almost made it to the friars gate
But the old wooden bridge wouldnt elevate
Hi derry doon in the month of june
Was the song the minstrel sung
To the good of robin hoods
Good name and a place to run
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down-Hall. A Ballad.
Tune. - 'King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.'
I sing not old Jason who travell'd through Greece
To kiss the fair maids and possess the rich fleece,
Nor sing I AEneas, who, led by his mother,
Got rid of one wife and went far for another.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Nor him who through Asia and Europe did roam,
Ulysses by name, who ne'er cared to go home,
But rather desired to see cities and men
Than return to his farms and converse with old Pen.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Hang Homer and Virgil; their meaning to seek,
A man must have poked into Latin and Greek;
Those who love their own tongue we have reason to hope,
Have read them translated by Dryden and Pope.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
But I sing of exploits that have lately been done
By two British heroes call'd Matthew and John,
And how they rid friendly from fine London town,
Fair Essex to see, and a place they call Down.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Now ere they went out, you may rightly suppose
How much they discoursed both in prudence and prose:
For before this great journey was thoroughly concerted,
Full often they met, and as often they parted.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And thus Matthew said, look you here my friend John,
I fairly have travell'd years thirty and one,
And though I still carried my Sovereign's warrants,
I only have gone upon other folks errands.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And now in this journey of life I would have
A place where to bait 'twixt the court and the grave,
Where joyful to live, not unwilling to die -
Gadzooks, I had just a place in my eye.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
There are gardens so stately, and arbours so thick,
A portal of stone, and a fabric of brick;
The matter next week shall be all in your power;
But the money, Gadzooks, must be paid in an hour.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
For things in this world must by law be made certain;
We both must repair unto Oliver Martin,
For he is a lawyer of worthy renown,
I'll bring you to see he must fix you at Down.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Quoth Matthew, I know that from Berwick to Dover
You've sold all our premises over and over;
And now if your buyers and sellers agree
You may throw all our acres into the South-sea.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
But a word to the purpose; to-morrow, dear friend,
We'll sea what to-night you so highly commend,
And if with a garden and house I am bless'd,
Let the devil and Coningsby go with the rest.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then answer'd Squire Morley, pray get a calash,
That in summer may burn, in winter may splash;
I love dirt and dust; and 'tis always my pleasure
To take with me much of the soil that I measure.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
But Matthew thought better, for Matthew thought right,
And hired a chariot so trim and so tight,
That extremes both of winter and summer might pass,
For one window was canvas, the other was glass.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Draw up, quoth friend Matthew; pull down, quoth friend John,
We shall be both hotter and colder anon:
Thus talking and scolding they forward did speed,
And Ralpho paced by under Newman the Swede.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Into an old inn did this equipage roll,
At a town they call Hodsdon, the sign of the Bull,
Near a nymph with an urn, that divides the highway,
And into a puddle throws mother of tea.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Come here, my sweet landlady, pray, how d'ye do?
Where is Cicily so cleanly, and Prudence, and Sue?
And where is the widow that dwelt here below?
And the ostler that sung about eight years ago?
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And where is your sister, so mild and so dear?
Whose voice to her maids like a trumpet was clear.
By my troth, she replies, you grow younger I think;
And pray, Sir, what wine does the gentleman drink?
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Why now let me die, Sir, or live upon trust,
If I know to which question to answer you first:
Why things since I saw you most strangely have varied?
The ostler is hang'd, and the widow is married.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And Prue left a child for the parish to nurse,
And Cicily went off with a gentleman's purse;
And as to my sister, so mild and so dear,
She has lain in the churchyard full many a year.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Well, peace to her ashes; what signifies grief?
She roasted red veal, and she powder'd lean beef;
Full nicely she knew to cook up a fine dish,
For tough were her pullets and tender her fish.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
For that matter, Sir, be ye 'squire, knight, or lord,
I'll give you whate'er a good inn can afford:
I should look on myself as unhappily sped
Did I yield a sister or living or dead.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Of mutton a delicate neck and a breast,
Shall swim in the water in which they were dress'd;
And because you great folks are with rarities taken,
Addle-eggs shall be next course, tost up with rank bacon.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then supper was served, and the sheets they were laid,
And Morley most lovingly whisper'd the maid.
The maid! was she handsome? why, truly so so;
But what Morley whisper'd we never shall know,
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then up rose these heroes as brisk as the sun,
And their horses, like his, were prepared to run:
Now when in the morning Matt ask'd for the score,
John kindly had paid it the evening before.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Their breakfast so warm, to be sure they did eat,
A custom in travellers mighty discreet:
And thus with great friendship and glee they went on
To find out the place you shall hear of anon,
Called Down, Down, hey derry down.
But what did they talk of from morning till noon?
Why, of spots in the sun, and the man in the moon;
Of the Czar's gentle temper, the stocks in the city,
The wise men of Greece, and the secret Committee.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
So to Harlow they came; and hey, where are you all?
Show us into the parlour, and mind when I call:
Why, your maids have no motion, your men have no life:
Well Master, I hear you have buried your wife,
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Come this very instant, take care to provide
Tea, sugar, and toast, and a hoarse and a guide.
Are the Harrisons here, both the old and the young?
And where stands fair Down, the delight of my song.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
O 'squire, to the grief of my heart I may say
I have buried two wives since you travell'd this way;
And the Harrisons both may be presently here;
And Down stands, I think, where it stood the last year.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then Joan brought the tea-pot, and Caleb the toast,
And the wine was frothed out by the hand of mine host;
But we clear'd our extempore banquet so fast,
That the Harrisons both were forgot in the haste.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Now hey or Down-Hall; for the guide he was got;
The chariot was mounted, the horses did trot;
The guide he did bring us a dozen miles round;
But, oh! all in vain, for no Down could be found.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
O thou Popish guide, thou hast led us astray,
Says he, How the devil should I know the way?
I never yet travell'd this road in my life;
But Down lies on the left I was told by my wife.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Thy wife, answer'd Matthew, when she went abroad,
Ne'er told thee of half the by-ways she had trod;
Perhaps she met friends, and brought pence to thy house,
But thou shalt go home without ever a sous.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
What is this thing, Morley, and how can you mean it?
We have lost our estate here before we have seen it;
Have patience, soft Morley in anger replied;
To find out our way let us send off our guide.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
O here I spy Down: cast your eye to the west,
Where a windmill so stately stands plainly confess'd.
On the west! replied Matthew, no windmill I find;
As well thou may'st tell me I see the west wind.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Now pardon me, Morley, the windmill I spy,
But faithful Achates, no house is there nigh:
Look again, says mild Morley, Gadzooks, you are blind;
The mill stands before and the house lies behind,
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
O now a low ruin'd white shed I discern,
Untiled and unglazed, I believe 'tis a barn.
A barn! why you have rave; 'tis a house for a 'squire,
A justice of peace, or a knight of our shire.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
A house should be built or with brick or with stone,
Why, 'tis plaster and lath, and I think that's all one;
And such as it is it has stood with great fame,
Been called a Hall, and has given its name,
To Down, Down, hey derry down.
O Morley, O Morley, if that be a hall,
The same with a building will suddenly fall -
With your friend Jemmy Gibbs about buildings agree,
My business is land, and it matters not me.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
I wish you could tell what a deuce your head ails;
I show'd you Down-Hall, did you look for Versailles?
Then take house and farm as John Ballet will let ye,
For better for worse, as I took my dame Betty.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And now, Sir, a word to the wise is enough;
You'll make very little of all your old stuff;
And to build at your age, by my troth, you grow simple,
Are you young and rich, like the master of Wimple?
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
If you have these whims of apartments and gardens,
From twice fifty acres you'll ne'er see five farthings;
And in your's I shall find the true gentleman's fate,
Ere you finish your house you'll have spent your estate.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Now let us touch thumb, and be friends ere we part,
Here, John, is my thumb, and here, Mat, is heart;
To Halstead I speed, and you go back to town;
Thus ends the first part of the ballad of Down.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
poem by Matthew Prior
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from: Shoemaker's Holiday, Or The Gentle Craft
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,
Saint Hugh be our good speed ;
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.
Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,
And here, kind mate, to thee ;
Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,
And down it merrily.
Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down,
Hey derry derry down-a-down,
Close with the tenor, boy ;
Ho ! well done, to me let come,
Ring compass, gentle joy.
Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,
And here, kind, &c. (As often as there be men to drink.)
(At last, when all have drunk, this verse.)
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,
Saint Hugh be our good speed ;
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.
poem by Thomas Dekker
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Thoughts Of Derry
Thoughts Of Derry
In August at mid-day on
An English building site
The air was clammy,
And office workers
Across from the site
Lay in the shade of
Ancient trees, at lunch break.
I too sat eating tomato
Sandwiches after hours
Of hudding bricks
Wondering if the sun
Was roasting the Creggan
Or were grey clouds
Sprinkling drizzle on the Foyle.
Near by, roses were
Blooming and window
Boxes flourished with
Natures glory but in
Thought recalling flowers
Mantling the grounds of
Brooke Park and St.Eugenes.
And as a tourist sought
Directions his presence
Initiated recall of past days
At Fahan and Buncrana
When the August Bank
Holidays sparked an exodus
From my native City.
Tonight, with a friend
From the Fountain, I
Shall enjoy a few pints
And then back to the
Hostel where sleep will
Prevent, unless I dream,
The constant tug of my Derry roots.
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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We have, therefore, directed the Irish Army authorities to have field hospitals established in County Donegal adjacent to Derry and at other points along the Border where they may be necessary.
quote by Jack Lynch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Star Of The County Down
In banbridge town in the county down
One morning last july,
From a boreen green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by.
She looked so sweet fronn her two bare feet
To the sheen of her nut brown hair.
Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself
For to see I was really there.
Chorus:
From bantry bay up to derry quay and
From galway to dublin town,
No maid Ive seen like the brown colleen
That I met in the county down.
As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head,
And I looked with a feelin rare,
And I says, says i, to a passer-by,
Whose the maid with the nut brown hair?
He smiled at me and he sayss, says he,
Thats the gem of irelands crown.
Its rosie mccann from the banks of the bann,
Shes the star of the county down.
Chorus:
From bantry bay up to derry ouay and
From galway to dublin town,
No maid Ive seen like the brown colleen
That I met in the county down.
At the harvest fair shell be surely there
And Ill dress in my sunday clothes,
With my shoes shone bright and my hat cocked
Right for a smile from my nut brown rose.
No pipe Ill smoke, no horse Ill yoke
Till my plough turns rust coloured brown.
Till a smiling bride, by my own fireside
Sits the star of the county down.
Chorus / repeat
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Only Had A Brain
(from the soundtrack album the wizard of oz in concert: dreams do come true; performed by jackson browne backed by ry cooder & david sanborn)
See, I cant scare anybody.
They come from miles around
To laugh in my face and eat in my field.
Said a scarecrow swinging on a pole,
To some blackbirds sittin on a fence,
Oh, the lord gave me a soul,
But, forgot to give me common sense.
Said the blackbirds, well, well, well.
What the thunder would you do with common sense?
Said the scarecrow,would be pleasin
Just to reason out the reason
Of the wishes and the whyness and the whence
If I had an once of common sense...
(if he had an ounce of common sense)
(well, what would you do scarecrow? )
I would while away the hours
Conferin with the flowers
Consultin with the rain
And my head Id be scratchin
While my thoughts were busy hatchin
If I only had a brain.
Id unravel every riddle,
For every individle,
In trouble or in pain.
With the thoughts Id be thinkin,
I could be another lincoln,
If I only had a brain.
Oh i-- could tell you why,
The oceans near the shore.
I could think of things I never thought before,
Then Id sit-- and think some more.
I would not be just a nothin,
My head all full of stuffin,
My heart all full of pain.
I would dance and by merry,
Life would be a dingle derry,
If I only had a brain.
If I only had a brain--
(if he only had a brain.)
I could tell you why
The oceans near the shore.
I could think of things I never thought before
And then Id sit-- and think some more.
Ya, it would be kind of pleasin
To reason out the reason,
For the things I cant explain.
Then perhaps Id deserve you,
And be even worthy of you,
If I only had a brain.
I could dance and by merry,
Life would be a dingle derry,
If I only had a brain.
If I only had a brain.
(if he only had a brain.)
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Only Had A Brain (feat. Jewel, Images, Ry Cooder & David Sanborn)
(from the soundtrack album The Wizard of Oz in Concert: Dreams Do Come True; performed by Jackson Browne backed by Ry Cooder & David Sanborn)
See, I can't scare anybody.
They come from miles around
To laugh in my face and eat in my field.
Said a scarecrow swinging on a pole,
To some blackbirds sittin' on a fence,
"Oh, the Lord gave me a soul,
But, forgot to give me common sense."
Said the blackbirds, "Well, well, well.
What the thunder would you do with common sense?"
Said the scarecrow,"Would be pleasin'
just to reason out the reason
of the wishes and the whyness and the whence"
If I had an once of common sense...
(If he had an ounce of common sense)
(Well, what would you do Scarecrow?")
I would while away the hours
Conferin' with the flowers
Consultin' with the rain
And my head I'd be scratchin'
While my thoughts were busy hatchin'
If I only had a brain.
I'd unravel every riddle,
For every individle,
In trouble or in pain.
With the thoughts I'd be thinkin',
I could be another Lincoln,
If I only had a brain.
Oh I-- could tell you why,
The ocean's near the shore.
I could think of things I never thought before,
Then I'd sit-- and think some more.
I would not be just a nothin',
my head all full of stuffin',
My heart all full of pain.
I would dance and be merry,
Life would be a dingle derry,
If I only had a brain.
If I only had a brain--
(If he only had a brain.)
I could tell you why
The ocean's near the shore.
I could think of things I never thought before
And then I'd sit-- and think some more.
Ya, it would be kind of pleasin'
To reason out the reason,
for the things I can't explain.
Then perhaps I'd deserve you,
and be even worthy of you,
If I only had a brain.
I could dance and by merry,
Life would be a dingle derry,
If I only had a brain.
If I only had a brain.
(If he only had a brain.)
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring Sun Risen
In keeping with tradition the elders watched the sky
Around the last days before, the Winter Sun would die:
Like her Mother before her, she'd send the children up
To the highest point on Derry Hill west of Currahsceach:
And true to form - they'd bid the Winter Sun farewell
Knowing that - all the alignments were now set.
That was always one day before the arrival of Spring Sun
A shadow cast Winter aside, new life had begun.
© Calac.
poem by Chris Lane
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Ill Be Your Lover, Too
Ill be your man
Ill understand
And do my best to take good care of you
Yes I will
Youll be my queen
Ill be your king
And Ill be your lover too
Derry down green
Colors my dream
A dream thats daily coming true
When day is through
I will come to you
And tell you of your many charms
Youll look at me
With eyes that see
And melt into my waiting arms
And so I come
To be the one
Whos always standing close to you
Reach out for me
So I can be
The one whos always reaching out for you
Ill be your king
Youll be my queen
And Ill be your lover too.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song For Two Children
'Make a song, father, a new little song,
All for Jenny and Nancy.'
Balow lalow or Hey derry down,
Or else what might you fancy?
Is there any song sweet enough
For Nancy and for Jenny?
Said Simple Simon to the pieman,
'Indeed I know not any.'
'I've counted the miles to Babylon,
I've flown the earth like a bird,
I've ridden cock-horse to Banbury Cross,
But no such song have I heard.'
'Some speak of Alexander,
And some of Hercules,
But where are there any like Nancy and Jenny,
Where are there any like these?'
poem by Robert Graves
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A GIRL IN DERRY June 19th,2011
A girl in Derry long ago said that I was full of lust,
She was probably right as she left me in the dust,
Said she was going to join a convent the very next week,
I often wonder if that experience was completely unique.
And if perchance she’s still alive, would she remember me,
A Canadian sailor from across the Atlantic sea,
But that was very long ago, even long before the pill,
Before many lovely ladies went crazy but some don’t still.
Is there something I may have missed somewhere along the way?
Lots of things forgotten so I should have kept a dossier,
Or wrote a book about the many people and events,
Could have been a best seller because of the contents.
poem by James Bredin
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Colum-Cille’s Farewell To Ireland
ALAS for the voyage, O High King of Heaven,
Enjoined upon me,
For that I on the red plain of bloody Cooldrevin
Was present to see.
How happy the son is of Dima; no sorrow
For him is designed,
He is having, this hour, round his own hill in Durrow,
The wish of his mind.
The sounds of the winds in the elms, like strings of
A harp being played,
The note of a blackbird that claps with the wings of
Delight in the shade.
With him in Ros-Grencha the cattle are lowing
At earliest dawn,
On the brink of the summer the pigeons are cooing
And doves in the lawn.
Three things am I leaving behind me, the very
Most dear that I know,
Tir-Leedach I’m leaving, and Durrow and Derry;
Alas, I must go!
Yet my visit and feasting with Comgall have eased me
At Cainneach’s right hand,
And all but thy government, Eiré, have pleased me,
Thou waterful land.
poem by Douglas Hyde
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The Forgers
IN the smithy it began:
Let's make something for a man!
Hear the bellows belch and roar,
Splashing light on roof and floor:
From their nest the feathery sparks
Fly like little golden larks:
Hear each forger's taunting yell,
Tell–tell–tell–tell–
Tell us what we make, my master!
Hear the tenor hammers sound,
Ring-a-round, ring-a-round;
Hear the treble hammers sing,
Ding-a-ring, ding-a-ring;
Hear the forger's taunting yell,
Tell–tell–tell–tell!
Though the guess be right or wrong
You must wear it all life long!
How it glows as it grows,
Ding-a-ring-a-derry-down,
Into something–is't a crown?
Hear them half in death with laughter,
Shaking soot from roof and rafter;
Tell–tell–tell–tell–
Ding-a-ring, ding-a-ring,
See them round the royal thing,
See it fade to ruby rose,
As it glows and grows,
Guess, they shout, for worse or better:
Not a crown!
Is't a fetter?
Hear them shout demonic mirth:
Here's a guesser something worth;
Make it solid, round, and fine,
Fashioned on a cunning plan,
For the riddle-reader Man;
Ho–ho–ho–ho!
Hear the bellows heave and blow:
Heat dries up their tears of mirth;
Let the marvel come to birth,
Though his guess be right or wrong
He must wear it–all life long!
Sullen flakes of golden fire
Fawn about the dimming choir,
They're a dusky pack of thieves
Shaking rubies from their sleeves,
Hear them wield their vaunting yell,
Tell–tell–tell–tell!
Forging faster–taunting faster–
Guess, my master–Guess, my master!
Grows the enigmatic thing!
Ruddy joyance–Deep disaster?
Ding-a-ring, ding-a-ring,
Ding-a-ring-a-derry-down!
Is't a fetter–Is't a crown?
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Lament for the Poets: 1916
I heard the Poor Old Woman say:
"At break of day the fowler came,
And took my blackbirds from their songs
Who loved me well thro' shame and blame
No more from lovely distances
Their songs shall bless me mile by mile,
Nor to white Ashbourne call me down
To wear my crown another while.
With bended flowers the angels mark
For the skylark the place they lie,
From there its little family
Shall dip their wings first in the sky.
And when the first suprise of flight
Sweet songs excite, from the far dawn
Shall there come blackbirds loud with love,
Sweet echoesmof the singers gone.
But in the lovely hush of eve
Weeping I grieve the silent bills"
I heard the Poor Old Woman say
In Derry of the little hills.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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