A Broadside: No. 5 Fifth Year
Title
A Broadside: No. 5 Fifth Year
Subject
Ireland
Cuala Press
A Broadside
Irish Literary Revival
The Gaelic Revival
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 BANG THE DOOR BOYS". signed by Jack B. Yeats,
Creator
E. C. Yeats
Jack B. Yeats
Francis Macnamara
Publisher
Cuala Press
Date
October, 1912
Text
MY LABOURING BOY
As I roved out one morning,
All in the blooming spring,
I overheard a damsel fair,
Most grievously she did sing;
Saying, cruel were my parents,
Who did me sore annoy,
They would not let me tarry,
With my bonny Irish boy.
His cheeks are like the roses red
His eyes are black as sloes,
He is meek in his behaviour,
Wherever that he goes;
He is well-sized, both neat and wise,
Like a maiden's chastity.
If I had my will I would be still,
In my love's company.
Says the mother to the daughter,
Why do you speak so strange,
To marry a poor labouring boy,
The world for to range;
Some noble lord might fancy you,
Great riches to enjoy,
So do not throw yourself away,
On a poor labouring boy.
Says the daughter to the mother,
Your talk is all in vain,
For knights, lords, dukes and earls
their efforts I disdain;
I'd sooner live an humble life,
Where time I would employ,
In waiting happy prospects,
With my bonny labouring boy.
THE POLISH GIRL
To the forest at midnight I have gone,
In a glade my hair let flow;
In a river watched the falling stars
Swoop from the depths below.
I have walked beside the forest stream,
And for one glorious minute
Put a water-lily on my head
And set a glow-worm in it.
France Macnamara
What will I do if the kettle boils over?
What will I do but fill it again!
What will I do if I marry a rover?
What will I do but get married again!
As I roved out one morning,
All in the blooming spring,
I overheard a damsel fair,
Most grievously she did sing;
Saying, cruel were my parents,
Who did me sore annoy,
They would not let me tarry,
With my bonny Irish boy.
His cheeks are like the roses red
His eyes are black as sloes,
He is meek in his behaviour,
Wherever that he goes;
He is well-sized, both neat and wise,
Like a maiden's chastity.
If I had my will I would be still,
In my love's company.
Says the mother to the daughter,
Why do you speak so strange,
To marry a poor labouring boy,
The world for to range;
Some noble lord might fancy you,
Great riches to enjoy,
So do not throw yourself away,
On a poor labouring boy.
Says the daughter to the mother,
Your talk is all in vain,
For knights, lords, dukes and earls
their efforts I disdain;
I'd sooner live an humble life,
Where time I would employ,
In waiting happy prospects,
With my bonny labouring boy.
THE POLISH GIRL
To the forest at midnight I have gone,
In a glade my hair let flow;
In a river watched the falling stars
Swoop from the depths below.
I have walked beside the forest stream,
And for one glorious minute
Put a water-lily on my head
And set a glow-worm in it.
France Macnamara
What will I do if the kettle boils over?
What will I do but fill it again!
What will I do if I marry a rover?
What will I do but get married again!
Original Format
Broadside
Files
Collection
Citation
E. C. Yeats, Jack B. Yeats, and Francis Macnamara, “A Broadside: No. 5 Fifth Year,” Linda Lear Center Digital Collections and Exhibitions, accessed November 23, 2024, https://lc-digital.conncoll.edu/items/show/1399.