| Good Father John O’Hart |
| In penal days rode out |
| To a shoneen who had free lands |
| And his own snipe
and trout. |
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| In trust took he John’s lands; |
| Sleiveens were all his race; |
| And he gave them as dowers to his
daughters, |
| And they married beyond their place. |
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| But Father John went up, |
| And Father John went down; |
| And he wore small holes in his shoes, |
| And he wore large holes in his gown. |
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| All loved him, only the
shoneen, |
| Whom the devils have by the hair, |
| From the wives, and the cats, and the children, |
| To the birds
in the white of the air. |
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| The birds, for he opened their cages |
| As he went up and down; |
| And he said with
a smile, ‘Have peace now’; |
| And he went his way with a frown. |
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| But if when anyone died |
| Came keeners
hoarser than rooks, |
| He bade them give over their keening; |
| For he was a man of books. |
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| And these were
the works of John, |
| When, weeping score by score, |
| People came into Coloony; |
| For he’d died at ninety-
four. |
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| There was no human keening; |
| The birds from Knocknarea |
| And the world round Knocknashee |
| Came keening in that day. |
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| The young birds and old birds |
| Came flying, heavy and sad; |
| Keening in from
Tiraragh, |
| Keening from Ballinafad; |
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| Keening from Inishmurray, |
| Nor stayed for bite or sup; |
| This way were
all reproved |
| Who dig old customs up. |
