A Broadside: No. 4 sixth Year

A Broadside: No. 4 sixth Year

Ireland

Cuala Press

A Broadside

The Gaelic Revival

Irish Literary Tradition

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

E. C. Yeats

Jack B. Yeats

Cuala Press

September, 1913

THE SORROWFUL LAMENTATION OF CALLAGHAN, GREALLY, AND MULLEN
'Come tell me, dearest mother, what makes my father stay,
Or what can be the reason that he's so long away?'
'Oh! hold your tongue, my darling son, your tears do not grieve me sore,
I fear he had been murdered in the fair of Turloughmore.'

Come, all you tender Christians, I hope you will draw near,
It's of this dreadful murder I mean to let you hear,
Concerning those poor people whose loss we do deplore -
(The Lord have mercy on their souls) that died at Turloughmore.

It is on the First of August, the truth I will declare,
Those people they assembled that day all at the fair;
But little was their notion what evil was in store,
All by the bloody Peelers at the fair of Turloughmore.

Were you to see that dreadful sight it would grieve your heart I know,
To see the comely women and the men all lying low;
God help their tender parents, they will never see them more,
For cruel was their murder at the fair of Turloughmore.

It's for that base blood-thirsty crew, remark the word I say,
The Lord he will reward then against the judgement-day,
the blood they have taken innocent for it they'll suffer sore,
And the treatment that they gave to us that day at Turloughmore.

The morning of their trial as they stood up in the dock,
The words they spoke were feeling, the people round them flock,
'I tell you, Judge and Jury, the truth I will declare,
It was Brew that ordered us to fire that evening at the fair.'

Now to conclude and finish this sad and doleful fray,
I hope their souls are happy against the judgement-day;
It was little time they got, we know, when they fell like new-mowed hay,
May the Lord have mercy on their souls against the judgement-day.

THE MAID OF AMSTERDAM
Capstain Chanty

In Amsterdam there dwelt a maid,
Mark well what I do say;
In Amsterdam there dwelt a maid,
And she was mistress of her trade.
And I'll go no more a-roving
With you, fair maid.
A-roving, a-roving,
Since roving's been my r-u-i-n,
With you, fair maid.

Her cheeks was red, her eyes was brown,
Mark well what I do day;
Her cheeks was red, her eyes was brown,
Her hair like glow-worms hanging down.
And I'll go no more a-roving
With you, fair maid.
A-roving, a-roving,
Since roving's been my r-u-i-n,
With you, fair maid.

Broadside