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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.