m The Four Farrellys............ Posted by john bradley In a small hotel in London I was sitting down to dine. When the waiter brought the register and asked me if Id sign. And as I signed I saw a name that set my heart astir — A certain Francis Farrelly had signed the register; I knew a lot of Farrellys and out of all the crew I kept on sort of wonderin which Farrelly were you. And when Id finished dinner I sat back in my chair, Going round my native land to find, what Farelly you were. SOUTH Were you the keen-eyed Kerryman I met below Kenmare, Who told me that when Ireland fought the odds were never fair? If Cromwell had met Sarsfield, or Owen Roe ONeill, Its not to Misther Gladstone wed be lookin for repeal. Would have Ireland for the Irish, not a Saxon to be seen, And only Gaelic spoken in that House in College Green. Told me landlords wor the Divil! their agints ten times worst, And ivry sort of government for Ireland was a curse! Oh! if youre that Francis Farrelly, your dreams have not come true, Still, Slainthe! Slainthe! Fransheen! for I like a man like you! NORTH Or were you the Francis Farrelly that often used to say Hed like to blow them Papishes from Derry walls away? The boy who used to bother me that Orange Lodge to join, And thought that history started with the Battle o the Boyne — I was not all with ye, Francis, the Pope is not ma friend, But still I hope, poor man, hell die without that bloody end. - And when yer quit for care yerself, and get to Kingdom Come, Its not use teachin you the harp — youll play the Orange drum! Och! man, ye wor a fighter, of that I had no doubt. For I see ye in Belfast one night when the Antrim Road was out! And many a time that evenin I thought that ye wor dead, The way them Papish pavin stones was hoppin off yer head. Oh! if youre the Francis Farrelly who came from North Tyrone - Heres lookin to ye, Francis, but do leave the Pope alone! EAST Or were you the Francis Farrelly that in my college days For strollin on the Kingstown Pier had such a curious craze? Dy mind them lovely sisters — the blonde and the brunette? I know Ive not forgotten, and I dont think you forget! That picnic at the Dargle — and the others at the Scalp — How my heart was palpitatin — hers wasnt — not a palp! Someone said ye married money — any maybe ye were wise, But the gold you loved was in her hair, and the dmonds in her eyes! So I like to think ye married her and that youre with her yet, Twas some meleesha officer that married the brunette; But the blonde one always loved ye, and I knew you loved her too, So me blessins on ye, Francis, and the blue sky over you! WEST Or were you the Francis Farrelly I met so long ago, In the bog below Belmullet, in the County of Mayo? That long-legged, freckled Francis with the deep-set, wistful eyes, That seemed to take their colour from those ever-changing skies, That put his flute together as I sketched the distant scene, And played me Planxy Kelly and the Wakes of Inniskeen. That told me in the Autumn hed be Bailin to the West To try and make his fortune and send money to the rest. And would I draw a picture of the place where he was born, And hed hang it up, and look at it, and not feel so forlorn; And when I had it finished, you got up from where you sat, And you said, Well, youre the Divil, and I cant say more than that. Oh, if youre that Francis Farrelly, your fortune may be small, But Im thinking — thinking — Francis, that I love you best of all; And I never can forget you — though its years and years ago - In the bog below BeImullet, in the County of Mayo. - See more at: allpoetry Like ·
Posted on: Tue, 30 Dec 2014 21:09:22 +0000
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