A Broadside: No. 1 Second Year

A Broadside: No. 1 Second Year

Ireland

Dun Emer Press

Cuala Press

A Broadside

Irish Literary Revival

The Gaelic Revival

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY E. C. YEATS AT THE CUALA PRESS, CHURCHTOWN, DUNDRUM, COUNTY DUBLIN. SUBSCRIPTION TWELVE SHILLINGS A YEAR POST FREE.
300 copies only.

The woodcut on page [3] has caption: "A Shop in Sailor Town". Signed by Jack B. Yeats.

E. C. Yeats

Jack B. Yeats

Seumus O'Sullivan

Cuala Press

June, 1909.

THE GAY OLD HAG
Will you come a boating, my gay old hag,
Will you come a boating, my tight old hag,
Will you come a boating down by the Liffey shore
I'll make a pair of oars of your two long shins?
Chorus
Crush her in the corner the gay old hag,
Crush her in the corner the tight old hag,
Crush her in the corner and keep her snug and warm,
Put powder in her horn, she's a fine old hag.

Napoleon's on dry land, says the shan van vocht,
Napoleon's on dry land, says the shan van vocht,
Napoleon's on dry land, with a sword in his right hand,
He's a gallant Ribbon man, says the shan van vocht.

My mother is getting young, says the shan van vocht,
My mother is getting young, says the shan van vocht,
My mother is getting young, and she'll have another son
To make the orange run, says the shan van vocht.

My mother has a heifer, says the shan van vocht,
My mother has a heifer, says the shan van vocht,
My mother has a heifer, and she sleeps behind the dresser,
Yes, and God Almighty bless her, she's a fine old hag.

Remember Father Sheam says the shan van vocht,
For him our hearts are bleeding, says the shan van vocht,
Yes, and Father Murphy too, the Bloody Orange crew,
They burned him that's true, says the shan van vocht.

The Gibbets and pitch caps, says the shan van vocht,
The Gibbets and pitch caps, says the shan van vocht,
The Gibbets and pitch caps, says the shan van vocht,
My fine sons were standing on the trap, says the shan van vocht.

Remember '98, says the shan van vocht,
When our brave sons you thought to defeat,
You thought to defeat, says the shan van vocht,
But we beat you out compleat, says the shan van vocht,
Now you're nearly out of date, says the shan van vocht.

RAGS AND BONES
Gather 'em, gather 'em, gather 'em, O,
He shouts monotonous, jolting slow
His little truck of rags and bones
Over the uneven cobble stones.
Ever about him cling and crowd
The waifs, a many coloured cloud
All shrilly clamouring, mad with joy
For sticky sweet or painted toy.
Hardly a breath is in the air
Yet every little windmill there
Goes whirling wildly, as though it knew
With every turn what rapture flew
Through all the heavy street, and stirred
The stagnant air, till the sad bird
High on the wall takes heart to sing,
And hails the simulated spring.
Seumas O'Sullivan

Broadside