A Broadside: No. 3 Fifth Year
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300 copies only.
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THE CONVICT OF CLONMELL
Translated from the Irish
How hard is my fortune,
And vain my repining!
The strong rope of fate
For this young neck is twining.
My strength is departed;
My cheek sunk and sallow;
While I languish in Chains,
In the gaol of Cluanmeala.
No boy in the village
Was ever yet milder,
I'd play with a child,
And my sport would be wilder.
I'd dance without tiring
From morning till even,
And the goal-ball I'd strike
To the lightning of heaven.
At my bed-foot decaying,
My hurlbat is lying,
Through the boys of the village
My goal-ball is flying;
My horse 'mong the neighbours
Neglected may fallow,-
Wile I pine in my chains,
In the gaol of Cluanmeala
Next Sunday the patron
At home will be keeping,
And the young active hurlers
The field will be sweeping.
With the dance of fair maidens
The evening they'll hallow,
While this heart, once so gay,
Shall be cold in Cluanmeala.
James Joseph Callanan
MY LOVE JOHNNY
I know where I'm going,
I know who's going with me;
I know who I love
But the dear knows who I'll marry.
I'll have stockings of silk,
Shoes of fine green leather,
Combs to buckle my hair
And a ring for every finger.
Feather beds are soft,
Painted rooms are bonny;
But I'd leave them all
To go with my love Johnny.
Some say he's dark,
I say he's bonny;
He's the flower of the flock
My handsome coaxing Johnny.
I know where I'm going,
I know who's going with me;
I know who I love
But the dear knows who I'll marry.