Connolly1916: category

2024-05-24T01:03:45Z

Connolly1916: added the poem

2024-05-23T01:06:22Z

added the poem

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{{Library work|title=Young Maurice O'Neill|author=Domhall Ó Curnáin|type=Poem}}

All over Ireland there is sorrow and gloom

For young Maurice O’Neill is in his cold prison tomb

By the traitors to Ireland he is sent to his shroud

Like the kinsmen of Owen Roe and the great Seán the Proud

Shooting at IRA men a ‘tec’ was shot dead

But O’Neill did not shoot him all there present said

Like the Manchester Martyrs when Brett was laid low

Young O’Neill is condemned though his soul white as snow

Good luck to our priests and people so brave

They all did their endeavours his young life to save

But as callous and cruel as the Old Saxon crew

Were the Fianna Fáil puppets - young Maurice they slew

For reprieve tens of thousands 'round Ireland did plead

but the despots in Dublin to them paid no heed

The rumour soon spread, which with tears filled each eye

On November the eleventh young Maurice did die

But November the 11th was red poppy day

Since the First World War 'twas John Bulls gala day

So they postponed the shooting lest the people should see

Their rulers still danced to the tunes called Sean Buí

At dawn the next morning they marched him to die

With his smart soldiers step and his head held on high

With no slur on his name and no stain on his hand

He laid down his life for his dear native land

God help his poor father this cruel cross to bear

His mother, God rest her, she is free from earth’s care

His brother, the teacher, long jailing has seen

His crime, too, being faithful to Dark Rosaleen

Had he died like young Williams in Belfast’s black gaol

It’s what you'd expect in the new North-East Pale

But by once-trusted leaders- are they traitors or fools?

They changed and become the false Sasanach’s tools

The rulers before them under whom this land groaned

We see them today both despised and dethroned

The day is fast dawning - may the Lord speed the hour

When we'll hunt these new tyrants from place and from power

It’s a wise church that ne'er canonises its saints

Till they're long dead and buried and free from Earths taints

For the halo of glory we once saw o'er Dev's brow

Is all changed and replaced by John Bulls horns now

To the tune 'Law and Order' our martyrs all died

Through the centuries down as to free us they tried

Their roll is so long it makes my head reel

The latest, not last, is brave Maurice O’Neill

To down the Republic young Maurice they slew

But his place will be taken by men just as true

They'll be found while grass grows ‘round famed Beenatee

And the Ohermong River flows down to the sea.
[[Category:Library works about Ireland]]
[[Category:Poems]]

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Library:Young Maurice O’Neill - Revision history

Connolly1916: category

Connolly1916: added the poem