ROSE OF KNOCKMANY

ROSE  OF  KNOCKMANY

O sure ‘ tis some fairy

Has set me contrary!

No more blithe and airy I sing as I go;

No longer in clover,

A free-hearted rover,

I lilt a light ditty or shake a loose toe.

In Leinster and Ulster,

Through Connaught and Munster,

‘ Twas I made the fun stir wherever I strayed;

And a jovialler fellow,

While sober or mellow,

Ne'er tossed off a jorum or wooed a fair maid.

 

Till once in the May time,

The tuneful and gay time -

(Ah, I fear ‘ twas the fay time) - from eve to the dawn,

I played for a maiden,

With hair simply braiden,

With eyes of soft lustre and grace like the fawn.

Those eyes while she listened,

Through dewy drops glistened,

Or sparkled like gems in the light of the moon;

Some witchcraft was in it!

For since that blessed minute,

I’m like poor young Johnny who played but one tune.

 

For whether I’m strolling

Where billows are rolling,

Or sweet bells are tolling o'er Shannon or Lee;

My wild harp when sweeping,

Where fountains are leaping,

At lone Gougaune Barra or storied Lough Neagh -

To priest or to peasant,

No matter who's present,

In sad hours or pleasant, by mountain or stream,

To the careless or cannie,

To colleen or granny -

Young Rose of Knockmany is ever my theme.

 

                        Charles  Kickham 

                   1828-1882