Poetry Archives

By Memory inspired,
  And love of country fired,
The deeds of men I love to dwell upon;
  And the patriotic glow
  Of my spirits must bestow
A tribute to O’Connell that is gone, boys—gone:
Here’s a memory to the friends that are gone!

  In October Ninety-seven—
  May his soul find rest in Heaven—
William Orr to execution was led on:
  The jury, drunk, agreed
  That Irish was his creed;
For perjury and threats drove them on, boys—on:
Here’s the memory of John Mitchell that is gone!

  In Ninety-eight—the month July—
  The informer’s pay was high;
When Reynolds gave the gallows brave MacCann;
  But MacCann was Reynolds’ first—
  One could not allay his thirst;
So he brought up Bond and Byrne, that are gone, boys—gone:
Here’s the memory of the friends that are gone!

  We saw a nation’s tears
  Shed for John and Henry Shears;
Betrayed by Judas, Captain Armstrong;
  We may forgive, but yet
  We never can forget
The poisoning of Maguire that is gone, boys—gone:
Our high Star and true Apostle that is gone!

  How did Lord Edward die?
  Like a man, without a sigh;
But he left his handiwork on Major Swan!
  But Sirr, with steel-clad breast,
  And coward heart at best,
Left us cause to mourn Lord Edward that is gone, boys—gone:
Here’s the memory of our friends that are gone!

  September, Eighteen-three,
  Closed this cruel history,
When Emmet’s blood the scaffold flowed upon:
  Oh, had their spirits been wise,
  They might then realise
Their freedom, but we drink to Mitchell that is gone, boys—gone:
Here’s the memory of the friends that are gone!