A Broadside: No. 3 Fourth Year
Title
A Broadside: No. 3 Fourth Year
Subject
Ireland
Dun Emer Press
Cuala Press
A Broadside
Irish Literary Revival
The Gaelic Press
Description
PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY E. C. YEATS AT THE CUALA PRESS, CHURCHTOWN, DUNDRUM, COUNTY DUBLIN. SUBSCRIPTION TWELVE SHILLINGS A YEAR POST FREE.
300 copies only.
300 copies only.
The woodcut on page [3] has caption: "The Sleeper". Signed by Jack B. Yeats.
Creator
E. C. Yeats
Jack B. Yeats
John Philpot Curran
Publisher
Cuala Press
Date
August, 1911
Text
THE DESERTER'S MEDITATION
If sadly thinking with spirits sinking
Could more than drinking my cares compose,
A cure from sorrow from sighs I'd borrow,
In hope to-morrow would end my woes.
But as in wailing there's nought availing
And Death unfailing will strike the blow.
Then for that reason and for a season
Like us be merry before we go.
To joy a stranger a well-worn ranger
In every danger my course I've run;
Now hope all ending and Death befriending
His last aid ending my cares are done.
No more a rover or hapless lover,
My griefs are over - my glass runs low
Then for that reason and for a season
Let us be merry before we go.
John Philpot Curran.
A TREASON SONG
I planted a Garden of the Laurel so fine
In hopes to preserve it for a True-love of mine,
By some treason or violence the roots did decay
And I'm left here to mourn for my Darling's delay.
This garden's gone wild for the want of good seed,
There's nought growing in it but the outlandish weed,
Some nettles and briers and shrubs of each kind,
Search this Garden all over not a true plant you'll find.
In one of these gardens a Violet doth spring,
'Tis preserved by a Goddess for the brow of a King.
It blooms in all seasons and it's rare to be seen
And none shall behold it but a Prince or a Queen.
I'll send for a Gardener to France or Spain,
Who'll cultivate these gardens and slow the true Grain;
Who will banish these nettles and wild weeds away,
Make a total destruction of them night and day.
This garden's invaded this many a year
By hundreds and thousands of the outlandish deer,
With their horns extended they have overgrown,
They thought to make old Ireland for ever their own.
I will send for a Hunter who soon will arrive
With a stout pack of Beagles to hunt and to drive
Over Highlands and Lowlands, through cold frost and snow,
No shelter to shield them wherever they go.
And now to conclude and to finish my song,
May the Lord send some Hayro, and that before long.
May the Lord send some Hayro of Fame and Renown,
We'll send George to Hanover and O'Connell we'll crown.
If sadly thinking with spirits sinking
Could more than drinking my cares compose,
A cure from sorrow from sighs I'd borrow,
In hope to-morrow would end my woes.
But as in wailing there's nought availing
And Death unfailing will strike the blow.
Then for that reason and for a season
Like us be merry before we go.
To joy a stranger a well-worn ranger
In every danger my course I've run;
Now hope all ending and Death befriending
His last aid ending my cares are done.
No more a rover or hapless lover,
My griefs are over - my glass runs low
Then for that reason and for a season
Let us be merry before we go.
John Philpot Curran.
A TREASON SONG
I planted a Garden of the Laurel so fine
In hopes to preserve it for a True-love of mine,
By some treason or violence the roots did decay
And I'm left here to mourn for my Darling's delay.
This garden's gone wild for the want of good seed,
There's nought growing in it but the outlandish weed,
Some nettles and briers and shrubs of each kind,
Search this Garden all over not a true plant you'll find.
In one of these gardens a Violet doth spring,
'Tis preserved by a Goddess for the brow of a King.
It blooms in all seasons and it's rare to be seen
And none shall behold it but a Prince or a Queen.
I'll send for a Gardener to France or Spain,
Who'll cultivate these gardens and slow the true Grain;
Who will banish these nettles and wild weeds away,
Make a total destruction of them night and day.
This garden's invaded this many a year
By hundreds and thousands of the outlandish deer,
With their horns extended they have overgrown,
They thought to make old Ireland for ever their own.
I will send for a Hunter who soon will arrive
With a stout pack of Beagles to hunt and to drive
Over Highlands and Lowlands, through cold frost and snow,
No shelter to shield them wherever they go.
And now to conclude and to finish my song,
May the Lord send some Hayro, and that before long.
May the Lord send some Hayro of Fame and Renown,
We'll send George to Hanover and O'Connell we'll crown.
Original Format
Broadside
Files
Collection
Citation
E. C. Yeats, Jack B. Yeats, and John Philpot Curran, “A Broadside: No. 3 Fourth Year,” Linda Lear Center Digital Collections and Exhibitions, accessed April 25, 2024, https://lc-digital.conncoll.edu/items/show/1385.