A Broadside: No. 5 Seventh and Last Year of the Set

Title

A Broadside: No. 5 Seventh and Last Year of the Set

Subject

Ireland
Cuala Press
A Broadside
The Gaelic Revival
Irish Literary 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.
The woodcut on page [3] has caption: "DUBLIN QUAYS". Signed by Jack B. Yeats.

Creator

E. C. Yeats
Jack B. Yeats

Publisher

Cuala Press

Date

October, 1914

Text

SHUILE AGRA
As I roved through my new garden bowers,
To gaze upon the fast fading flowers,
And think upon the happiest hours
That fled in Summer's bloom.

Shuile, shuile, shuile agra,
Time alone can ease my woe;
Since the lad of my heart from me did go
Gotheen mavourneen slaun.

I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,
When flax is spun I'll sell my wheel,
to buy my love a sword of steel.
Gotheen mavourneen slaun.

I'll dye my petticoat, I'll dye it red
And round the world I'll beg my bread.
That all my friends may wish me dead.
Gotheen mavournneen slaun.

I wish I were on Brandon Hill,
'Tis there I'll sit and cry my fill,
That every tear would turn a mill
Gotheen mavourneen slaun.

No more am I that blooming maid,
That used to rove the valley shade,
My youth and bloom are all decayed,
Gotheen mavourneen slaun.

Shuile, shuile, shuile agra,
Time alone can ease my woe;
Since the lad of my heart from me did go
Gotheen mavourneen slaun.

MY IRISH GIRL
As I roved out one evening down by a river side
Looking all around me an Irish girl I spied,
Red and rosy were her cheeks, gold yellow was her hair
And costly were the robes of gold my Irish girl did wear.

The sort of shoes that my love wore were of a Spanish brown,
The sort of shoes that my love wears were bound all round with span;
Crying, alas! arue! what shall I do, for the loss of sthore machree,
Or must I go and leave my love, or slight my own Molly?

The second time I saw my love, I was sick and very bad,
All the request I asked of her was to tie my weary head.
I seen one as bad as me, but times might mend again,
For love is it a killing thing, did you ever feel the pain.

I wish my love was a red red rose, growing in our garden fair,
And I to be the gardener of her I would take care,
There's not a month throughout the year but my love I would renew,
With flowers fine I'd garnish thine sweetwilliam, thyme and rue.

I wish I was a butterfly I'd light on my love's breast,
If I was a nightingale I'd sing my love to rest,
Or if I was a blue cuckoo I's sing till the morning clear,
I'd sit and sing for you Molly whom I once loved so dear.

I wish I was in Banagher and sitting on the grass,
In my hand a bottle of wine and on my knees a lass,
We'd call for liquors plenty and pay before we'd go,
And we'd roll along the sea my boys let the wind blow high or low.

Original Format

Broadside

Files

078.pdf

Citation

E. C. Yeats and Jack B. Yeats, “A Broadside: No. 5 Seventh and Last Year of the Set,” Linda Lear Center Digital Collections and Exhibitions, accessed August 11, 2022, https://lc-digital.conncoll.edu/items/show/1423.