While you honour in song and in story the names of the patriot men,
Whose valour has covered with glory full many a mountain and glen,
Forget not the boys of the heather, who marshalled their bravest and best,
When Éire was broken in Wexford, and looked for revenge to the West.
I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!
The hilltops with glory were glowing. ‘twas the eve of a bright harvest day,
When the ships we’d been wearily waiting sailed into Killala’ broad bay;
And over the hills went the slogan, to waken in every breast
The fire that has never been quenched, boys, among the true hearts of the West.
I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!
Killala was ours ere the midnight, and high over Ballina town
Our banners in triumph were waving before the next sun had gone down.
We gathered to speed the good work, boys, the true men anear and afar;
And history can tell how we routed the redcoats through old Castlebar.
I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!
And pledge we "The stout sons of France", boys, bold Humbert and all his brave men,
Whose tramp, like the trumpet of battle, brought hope to the drooping again.
Since Éire has caught to her bosom on many a mountain and hill
The gallants who fell so they’re here, boys, to cheer us to victory still.
I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!
Though all the bright dreamings we cherished went down in disaster and woe,
The spirit of old is still with us that never would bend to the foe;
And Connacht is ready whenever the loud rolling tuck of the drum
Rings out to awaken the echoes and tell us the morning has come.
I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!
So here’s to the gallant old West, boys,
Which rallied her bravest and best
When Ireland was broken and bleeding;
Hurrah, boys! Hurrah for the West!
William Rooney
1798 Homepage
Conchúr Mag Uidhir, dochtúir leighis, a d’aistrigh an t-amhrán bríomhar úd "The Men of the West" le Liam Ó Maolruanaidh. Bhuaigh sé duais ag Feis Mahaigh Eo, 1903.
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Má mholtar le scéal is le hamhrán,
Na fir a bhí tréan agus fíor,
Chuir clú agus cáil lena ndánacht
Ar ghleann agus sruthán ‘s sliabh.
Ná fágaig’ ar deireadh na tréan-fhir
Do chruinnigh ar plánaí Mhaigh Eo,
Nuair a ghnóthaigh na Gaill i Loch Garman –
Siad muintir an Iarthair ‘bhí beo!
Seo sláinte na bhfear as an Iarthat díbh,
Do chruinnigh le cúnamh san ár!
Sheas siad in aimsir an ghéar-chaill –
Seo sláinte fear Chonnacht go bráth!
Tháinig na longa lá Fómhair,
Go cuan Chill Ala ag snámh,
‘S bhíomar chomh fada ag súil leo
Gur shíleamar nach dtiocfadh go bráth.
Agus thosaigh na hadharca ag séideadh,
Agus thosaigh na hadharca ag séideadh,
Ag fógairt go raigh siad ar fáil,
Agus corraíodh spreacadh in Éirinn
Nach múchfar i gConnacht go brath!
Seo sláinte na bhfear as an Iarthat díbh,
Do chruinnigh le cúnamh san ár!
Sheas siad in aimsir an ghéar-chaill –
Seo sláinte fear Chonnacht go bráth!
Níor bhuail sé an dó dhéag san oíche
Gur ghlan’mar Cill Ala go breá:
‘S ní dheachaidh an ghrian síos ‘na dhiadh sin
Go raibh brat glas ar chúirt Bhéal an Átha.
Chruinnigh na céadta le cúnamh,
Agus mairfidh an scéal sin go buan;
An chaoi ‘raibh na redcoats á ruaigeadh
As Caisleán an Bharraigh go Tuaim.
Seo sláinte na bhfear as an Iarthat díbh,
Do chruinnigh le cúnamh san ár!
Sheas siad in aimsir an ghéar-chaill –
Seo sláinte fear Chonnacht go bráth!
Agus goirim na Francaigh bhreá’ láidre
Do tháinig le Humbert anall,
Mar thug siad dúinn croí agus misneach
Nuair a bhíomar go brónach sa ngábh!
Agus trócaire Dé ar na céadta
Do thit ‘s do leagadh san ár,
Tá a gcnámha faoi fhód glas na hÉireann
Agus cuimhneoimid orthu go brách!
Seo sláinte na bhfear as an Iarthat díbh,
Do chruinnigh le cúnamh san ár!
Sheas siad in aimsir an ghéar-chaill –
Seo sláinte fear Chonnacht go bráth!
Má caitheadh le fána ár smaointe,
‘S ár ndóchas faoi scrios agus léan,
Tá an fíor-spiorad beo inár gcroíthe
Nach ngéillfidh don námhaid go héag!
Agus féach" Táimid réidh ar an nóiméad
A chluinfimid torann an áir
Ag fógairt ar chlanna na hÉireann
Go bhfuail saoirse ár n-oileáin ar fáil!
Seo sláinte na bhfear as an Iarthat díbh,
Do chruinnigh le cúnamh san ár!
Sheas siad in aimsir an ghéar-chaill –
Seo sláinte fear Chonnacht go bráth!
Seo sláinte na gConnachtach fíora
Do chruinnigh le cúnamh san ‘ar!
‘Siad togha agus rogha na tíre:
Seo sláinte sean-Chonnacht go bráth!
William Rooney ("Fear na Muintire") of Dublin was the energetic organiser of the 1898 Centenary commemoration of 1798. He worked unceasingly as a writer and lecturer and, in the words of Brian Ó hUiginn he "blazed the trail to 1916 and gave his life for Ireland". He died in 1901.
1798 Homepage
Though the beauties of the summer
Decked green Erin’s fertile breast,
There was woe and bitter wailing
In the valleys of the West.
For the presence of the tyrant
Cursed the mountain and the glen;
And the laggard Frenchman came not
With the weapons for our men.
But when autumn browned the cornfields
And the leaves upon the trees,
You could hear the rising murmur
Swell to thunder in the breeze.
Eyes that long were dimmed in slavery
Flashed with Freedom’s light again
For the French were in Killala
With the weapons for our men!
It has come, the day of vengeance
That our souls have waited long;
Vengeance on the hated tyrant
For each dark and bitter wrong.
As the mountain fox is hunted
Back into his loathsome den,
So we’ll scourge the brutal tyrant
With our weapons and our men.
James Stinson
1798 Homepage
O! The French are on the sea
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
The French are on the sea,
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
O! the French are in the bay,
They’ll be here without delay,
And the Orange will decay,
Says the sean-bhean bhocht.
O! The French are in the bay,
They’ll be here by break of day,
And the Orange will decay,
Says the sean-bhean bhocht.
And their camp it shall be where?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
Their camp it shall be where?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
On the Curragh of Kildare,
The boys they will be there,
With their pikes in good repair,
Says the sean-bhean bhocht.
To the Curragh of Kildare
The boys will they repair
And Lord Edward will be there
Says the sean-bhean bhocht.
Then what will the yeomen do?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
What will the yeomen do?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
What should the yeoman do
But throw off the red and blue,
And swear that they’ll be true
To the sean-bhean bhocht?
What should the yeoman do
But throw off the red and blue,
And swear that they’ll be true
To the sean-bhean bhocht?
And what colour will they wear?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
What colour will they wear?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
What colour should be seen
Where our fathers’ homes have been,
But our own immortal Green?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht.
What colour should be seen
Where our fathers’ have been
But our own immortal Green?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht.
And will Ireland then be free?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
Will Ireland then be free?
Says the sean-bhean bhocht;
Yes! Ireland SHALL be free,
From the centre to the sea;
Then hurrah! for Liberty!
Says the sean-bhean bhocht.
Yes! Ireland SHALL be free,
From the centre to the sea;
Then hurrah! for Liberty!
Says the sean-bhean bhocht.
1798 Homepage
"Tá na Francaigh teacht thar sáile"
Ars an tSean-bhean bhocht.
"Tá na Francaigh teacht thar sáile,"
Ars an tSean-bhean bhocht
"Táid ag teacht le soilse ré,
Beid anseo le fáinne an lae,
‘S beidh ár námhaidaid go cráite tréith,"
Ars an tSean-bhean bhocht.
"Is cá mbeidh cruinniú na Féinne?"
Ars an tSean-bhean bhocht.
"Is cá mbeidh cruinniú na Féinne?"
Ars an tSean-bhean bhocht.
"Thíos ar bhánta leathan r’eidh,
Cois Chill Dara ghrámhar shéimh,
Pící glana ‘s claímhte faobhair,"
Ars an tSean-bhean bhocht.
"Is a bhfaighimid fós ár saoirse?"
Ars an tSean-bhean bhocht.
"Is an bhfaighimid fós ár saoirse?"
Ars an tSean-bhean bhocht.
"Beimid saor ‘dir bhun is craobh,
Beimid saor ó thaobh go taobh,
Saor go deo le cabhair na naomh!"
Ars an tSean-bhean bhocht.
Mícheál Ó Súilleabháin a d’aistrigh
1798 Homepage