1798 Ballads & Poems

When he stepped up the narrow street Smiling proud and young Around the hemp, around his neck The golden ringlets clung There was never a tear in his blue eyes But sad and bright were they And young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Tuam today When he last stepped up that street Shining steel in hand Behind him marched in gray array

A stalwart earnest band For Antrim town, for Antrim town He lept into the fray Now young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Tuam today See the host of fleet foot men Dismayed with faces wan From Verners house and fishers cut Along the banks of Bann They come with vengeance in their eyes Too late, too late are they For young Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge of Tuam today

Oh, then tell me Sean O’Farrell, tell me why you hurry so. Hush me buachaill, hush and listen, and his cheeks were all a-glow. I bear orders from the captain, get ye ready quick and soon, For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon. By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon. Oh, then tell me Sean O’Farrell, where the gathering is to be, At the old spot by the river, quite well known to you and me. One more word for signal token, whistle out the marching tune With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon. By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night Many a manly heart was beating [throbbing] for the blessed morning light Murmurs rang along the valley to the banshee’s lonely croon And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon. By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon. All along that singing river that black mass of men was seen High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, ’tis the rising of the moon ‘Tis the rising of the moon, ’tis the rising of the moon And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, ’tis the rising of the moon

In comes the captain’s daughter,
The captain of the Yeos,
Saying “Brave United Irishmen,
We’ll ne’er again be foes.
A thousand pounds I’ll bring
If you will fly from home with me,
And dress myself in man’s attire
And fight for liberty.”

We are the boys of Wexford,
Who fought with heart and hand
To burst in twain the galling chain
And free our native land.

I want no gold, my maiden fair,
To fly from home with thee.
Your shining eyes will be my prize,
More dear than gold to me.
I want no gold to nerve my arm
To do a true man’s part –
To free my land I’d gladly give
The red drops of my heart…

And when we left our cabins, boys,
We left with right good will
To see our friends and neighbours
That were at Vinegar Hill!
A young man from our Irish ranks
A cannon he let go;
He slapped it into Lord Mountjoy
A tyrant he laid low!…

We bravely fought and conquered
At Ross and Wexford town;
And if we failed to keep them,
‘Twas drink that brought us down.
We had no drink beside us
On Tubberneering’s day,
Depending on the long, bright pike,
And well it worked that way…

And Oulart’s name shall be their shame,
Whose steel we ne’er did fear.
For every man could do his part
Like Forth and Shelmalier!
And if for want of leaders,
We lost at Vinegar Hill,
We’re ready for another fight,
And love our country still!

We are the boys of Wexford,
Who fought with heart and hand
To burst in twain the galling chain
And free our native land.

The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley…
No kitchens on the run, no striking camp…
We moved quick and sudden in our own country.
The priest lay behind ditches with the tramp.
A people hardly marching… on the hike…
We found new tactics happening each day:

We’d cut through reins and rider with the pike
And stampede cattle into infantry,
Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.
Until… on Vinegar Hill… the final conclave.
Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
They buried us without shroud or coffin
And in August… the barley grew up out of our grave.

What’s the news, what’s the news oh my bold Shelmalier
With your long barrelled guns from the sea
Say what wind from the south brings a messenger here
With the hymn of the dawn for the free
Goodly news, goodly news do I bring youth of Forth
Goodly news shall you hear Bargy man
For the boys march at dawn from the south to the north
Led by Kelly the boy from Killane
Tell me who is that giant with the gold curling hair
He who rides at the head of your band
Seven feet is his height with some inches to spare
And he looks like a king in command
Ah my boys that’s the pride of the bold Shelmaliers
‘Mongst greatest of hero’s a man
Fling your beavers aloft and give three ringing cheers
For John Kelly the boy from Killane Enniscorthy’s in flames and old Wexford is won

And tomorrow the Barrow we will cross
On a hill o’er the town we have planted a gun
That will batter the gateway to Ross
All the Forth men and Bargy men will march o’er the heath
With brave Harvey to lead in the van
But the foremost of all in that grim gap of death
Will be Kelly the boy from Killane
But the gold sun of freedom grew darkened at Ross
And it set by the Slaney’s red waves
And poor Wexford stripped naked, hung high on a cross
With her heart pierced by traitors and slaves
Glory-o, glory-o to her brave sons who died
For the cause of long down trodden man
Glory-o to Mount Leinster’s own darling and pride
Dauntless Kelly the boy from Killane.

At Boolavogue as the sun was setting
O’er the bright May meadows of Shelmalier,
A rebel hand set the heather blazing
And brought the neighbours from far and near.
Then Father Murphy, from old Kilcormack,
Spurred up the rocks with a warning cry,
“Arm, Arm!” he cried, “for I’ve come to lead you,
For Ireland’s freedom we’ll fight or die.”
He led us on ’gainst the coming soldiers,
And the cowardly Yeomen we put to flight;
’Twas at the Harrow the boys of Wexford
Showed Bookey’s regiment how men could fight.
Look out for hirelings, King George of England,
Search every kingdom where breathes a slave.
For Father Murphy from the County Wexford
Sweeps o’er the land like a mighty wave

We took Camolin and Enniscorthy,
And Wexford storming drove out our foes;
‘Twas at Sliabh Coillte our pikes were
reeking with crimson stream of the beaten Yeos.
At Tubberneering and Ballyellis
Full many a Hessian lay in his gore,
Ah, Father Murphy, had aid come over
The green flag floated from shore to shore!
At Vinegar Hill, o’er the pleasant Slaney,
Our heroes vainly stood back to back,
And the Yeos at Tullow took Father Murphy
And burned his body upon the rack.
God grant you glory, brave Father Murphy,
And open heaven to all your men;
The cause that called you may call to-morrow
In another fight for the Green again.