uparrowThe Convict of Clonmeluparrow

Jeremiah Joseph Callanan

How hard is my fortune,
And vain my repining!
The strong rope of fate
For this young neck is twining!
My strength is departed,
My cheeks sunk and sallow,
While I languish in chains
In the jail of Cluain Meala.


No boy of the village
Was ever yet milder;
I'd play with a child
And my sport would be wilder;
I'd dance without tiring
From morning till even,
And my goal-ball I'd strike
To the lightning of heaven.


At my bed-foot decaying,
My hurley is lying;
Through the boys of the village
My goal-ball is flying;
My horse 'mong the neighbours
Neglected may fallow,
While I pine in my chains
In the jail of Cluain Meala.


Next Sunday the Patron
At home will be keeping,
All the young active hurlers
The field will be sweeping;
And the dance of fair maidens
The evening will hallow,
While this heart once so gay
Will be cold in Cluain Meala.



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