FROM THE IRISH OF THOMAS LAVELLE
ON the deck of Patrick Lynchs boat I sat in woful plight,
Through my sighing all the weary
day and weeping
all the night;
Were it not that full of sorrow from my people forth I go,
By the blessàd sun!
tis royally Id sing thy praise, Mayo!
When I dwelt at home in plenty, and my gold did much
In the company of fair young
maids the Spanish ale went
Tis a bitter change from those gay days that now Im forced
And must leave my bones in Santa Cruz, far from my own
They are alterd girls in Irrul now; tis proud theyre grown
With their hair-bags and
their top-knots, for I pass their
But its little now I heed their airs, for God will have it so,
I must depart for foreign lands and leave my sweet Mayo.
Tis my grief that Patrick Loughlin is not Earl of Irrul still,
And that Brian Duff no longer rules
as Lord upon the hill:
And that Colonel Hugh McGrady should be lying dead and
And I sailing, sailing
swiftly from the county of Mayo.
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