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When once I rose at
morning
The summer sun was shining,
I heard the horn awinding
And the bird's merry songs;
There were badger and weasel,
Woodcock and plover,
And echo repeating
The music of the guns.
The hunted fox was flagging,
The horsemen followed shouting;
Counting her geese on the highway
Some woman's heart was sore;
But now the woods are falling
We must go over the water-
Sean O'Dwyer of the Valley
Your pleasure is no more.
There's cause enough for grieving,
All the woodlands falling,
The north wind comes freezing
With death in the sky;
My merry hound's tied tightly
From sporting and chasing
That would life a young lad's sorrows
In noondays gone by.
The stag is up in Carrick,
His antlers high as ever;
He can enjoy the heather,
But our day is o'er;
Let the townsmen cease they prying,
And I'll take ship from Galway-
Sean O'Dwyer of the Valley,
Your pleasure is no more.
The homes of Coomasrohy
Have neither roof nor gable,
In Strade where birds are silent
No man recites its praise;
From Clonmel along the river
There is no shade or shelter,
And hares amid the clearings
Run safe all their days.
What is this thud of axes,
Trees creaking and falling,
The sweet thrust and the blackbird
In silence everywhere?
And - certain sign of trouble -
Priest and their people
Flying to mountain valleys
To raise the word of prayer?
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