Aithriseoireacht
Tharla an eachtra seo le linn Chath Bhéal Átha na Muc i gCo Longfoirt, 8ú Meán Fómhair 1798. Chroch na Sasanaigh Séamas MacAoidh i ndiadh an chatha.
***
I mBaile an Muc, Dé Sathairn, chailleamar an lá,
Nuair a ghéill an ginearál Francach is a shaighdiúirí don námhaid.
Bhíomar féin ar Shean-mhullach os comhair arm mór an Rí.
"Go ndírí Dia an t-urchar," ars’ an Gunnadóir Mac Aoidh.
Réab an liathróid iarainn a bealach tríd an aer;
Bhuail i measc an phúdair is séideadh é go spéir;
Is d’eirigh ceo an phléasctha gur chlúdaigh sé an ghrian:
"Mo ghrá go deo an t-iarann," ars’ an Gunnadóir Mac Aoidh.
Ach b’shin an liathróid deiridh a bhí fágtha againn ar chlár;
Bhriseamar buiceidí, potaí, ciotail, cannaí stáin;
Baineadh tairní as bróga, cuireadh cnaipí ins an líon:
"Tá goile láidir ag an ngunna," ars’ an Gunnadóir Mac Aoidh.
Briseadh carráiste beag an ghunna le hurchar na nGall;
Bhí an roth ina smidiríní, bhí an bairille ar sceabha,
Léimeadar chun gnímh, Taimí, Paidí agus Liam:
"Cuirigí na guaillí fúithi," ars’ an Gunnadóir Mac Aoidh.
"Seo chugainn an Coirnéal Crawford," – chuir sé lasán chuig an bpoll;
Is a Dhia! nárbh uafásach an t-ár i measc na nGall –
Píosaí de photaí réabtha ina gceathanna le gaoth.
"Tá tasc ansúd don tincéir," ars’ an Gunnadóir Mac Aoidh.
Ach nár thrua linn an t-amharc nuair a ghlan an smúit ina dhiadh!
Bhí an triúr fear gan anam – Taimí, Paidí agus Liam!
Ghluais na mílte Sasanach dár n-ionsaí ar gach taobh
"Tá deireadh leis an gcluiche," ars’ an Gunnadóir Mac Aoidh.
I mBaile na Muc, Dé Sathairn, chailleamar an lá;
Ach ar éacht an Ghunnadóra beidh trácht go lá an bhráth.’
Ar chrann boltraí a crochadh é ‘s an ghrian ag dul ‘na luí:
"A Chríost, bí liom den dul seo," ars’ an Gunnadóir Mac Aoidh.
Eoghan Ó Tuairisc
1798 Homepage
(Air: The Croppy Boy)
The first storm of winter blew high, blew high,
Red leaves were scattering to a gloomy sky;
Rain clouds were lowering o’er the plains of Kildare,
When from Dublin, southward, the mourners came there.
"In the spring," they whispered, "Lord Edward bled,
And the blood of hosts was in summer shed;
Death in the autumn o’er Connacht passed,
But the loss that is sorest came last, came last.
"Though Fitzgerald died, sure we fought them still,
And we shouted ‘Vengeance’ on Vinegar Hill,
Knowing our flag would again be flown
If France gave ear to the prayers of Tone.
"Twice," we thought, "his appealing lips
Brought forth her armies and battleships,
And the storms of God shall not always stay
England’s doom, as in Bantry Bay.
"And oh," we said to the hopeless ones,
Who made count of Ireland’s martyred sons,
"The bravest lives; be your mourning dumb,
Ere the snow of winter Wolfe Tone shall come."
He came – was beaten – we bear him here
From a prison cell on his funeral bier,
And freedom’s hope shall be buried low
With his mouldering corpse ‘neath the winter snow.
"Hush," one said, o’er the new-set sod,
"Hope shall endure with our faith in God,
And God shall only forsake us when
This grave is forgotten by Irishmen."
Alice Milligan
Alice Milligan (1865-1953) was born in Omagh, County Tyrone. She invited John O’Leary, the Fenian, to the ’98 Centenary celebrations which she organised in Belfast. She was an organiser for Conradh na Gaeilge and was later honoured with a D Litt by the NUI in 1941.
1798 Homepage
(Air: Eochaill)
Fr John Murphy of Bollavogue led his parishioners in routing the Camolin Cavalry on May 26, 1798. The Wexford insurgents were eventually defeated at Vinegar Hill on June 21.
***
At Boolavogue, as the sun was setting
O’er the bright May meadows of Shelmalier,
A rebel hand set the heather blazing
And brought the neighbours from far and near.
Then Father Murphy, from old Kilcormack,
Spurred up the rocks with a warning cry;
"Arm! Arm!" he cried, "for I’ve come to lead you,
For Ireland’s freedom we fight or die."
He led us on ‘gainst the coming soldiers,
And the cowardly Yeomen we put to flight;
‘Twas at the Harrow the boys of Wexford
Showed Bookey’s regiment how men could fight.
Look out for hirelings, King George of England,
Search every kingdom where breathes a slave,
For Father Murphy of the County Wexford
Sweeps o’er the land like a mighty wave.
We took Camolin and Enniscorthy,
And Wexford storming drove out our foes;
‘Twas at Sliabh Coillte our pikes were reeking
With the crimson stream of the beaten Yeos.
At Tubberneering and Ballyellis
Full many a Hessian lay in his gore;
Ah, Father Murphy, had aid come over
The green flag floated from shore to shore!
At Vinegar Hill, o’er the pleasant Slaney,
Our heroes vainly stood back to back,
And the Yeos at Tullow took Father Murphy
And burned his body upon the rack.
God grant you glory, brave Father Murphy
And open heaven to all your men;
The cause that called you may call to-morrow
In another fight for the Green again.
PJ McCall (1861-1919)
1798 Homepage
Tá cuntas anseo ar chuid de eachtraí an Éirí Amach. Is cosúil gur scríobhadh na véarsaí seo nuair a bhí an pobal díomuach tar éis ghéilleadh Bhéal Átha na Muc.
***
Ar an gceathrú lá fichead de mhí na Lúnasa
Bhí na Francaigh againn le bánú an lae;
Is an tír ag bogadh le tréan á bpúdair –
Tuilleadh sciúrse ‘teacht ar Chlann na nGael.
Thug muid briseadh ag Crois Mhaoilíona,
Is ag Bealach Gaoithe cuireadh orthu an rotréat,
Ag Caisleán a’ Bharra, eadar sin is meán oíche
Bhí dhá chéad ‘s trí mhíle le síneadh i gcré.
Is luath ar maidin a fuair muid scéala,
Le scoileadh na bhfáinní is ag bánú an lae –
Scéala nár bhinn linn, is nár mhaith linn trácht air –
Na Francaigh bhána gur gabhadh iad.
An méid a d’imigh acu is nár bádh
Chaith siad an lá sin faoi éadan bruaigh,
Mar shlua caorach ag dul thar sáile,
Agus eagla a mbáite orthu ag gach taobh.
Ag éirí amach dúinn, lá ar na mhárach,
Le scaoileadh na bhfáinní is le bánú an lae,
Bhí trúpa Sasanaigh i lár na sráide,
Is nach tréan na lámha nach nglacfadh siad.
Bhí a gcuid waggons leo ag ionsaí an tsléibhe,
Agus na bráithre go léir ag guí Dé
Len ár náimhde a leagan, is an bhua a bhaint díofa,
Agus fós an lá a thabhairt do Chlann na nGael.
Mná óga na tíre tá anois gan phósadh,
Tá eagla mhór orm go mbeidh na fir gann,
‘Á gcur go Sasan’ leis na Francaigh –
In aghaidh rí Sheoirse, níl gar dóibh ann.
Ach tá dúil mhór agam as Rí na nGrásta,
Is as Bonaparte nach ndearna ariamh feall,
Go dtiocfaidh ár gcaraid i measc na námhad,
Is go mbainfidh siad sásamh as Clann na nGall.
Ón mBéaloideas
1798 Homepage
General Henry Munroe led the County Down insurgents, who were victorious at Saintfield, but were defeated at Ballinahinch on 13th June, 1798. He was betrayed and hanged in front of his own home in Lisburn, County Antrim on 16th June.
***
My name is George Campbell at the age of eighteen
I joined the United Men to strive for the green,
And many a battle I did undergo
With that hero commander, brave General Munroe.
Have you heard of the Battle of Ballinahinch
Where the people oppressed rose up in defence?
When Munroe left the mountains his men took the field,
And they fought for twelve hours and never did yield.
Munroe being tired and in want of a sleep,
Gave a woman ten guineas his secret to keep.
But when she got the money the devil tempted her so
That she sent for the soldiers and surrendered Munroe.
The army they came and surrounded the place,
And they took him to Lisburn and lodged him in jail.
And his father and mother in passing that way
Heard the very last words that their dear son did say!
"Oh, I die for my country as I fought for her cause,
And I don’t fear your soldiers nor yet heed your laws.
And let every true man who hates Ireland’s foe
Fight bravely for freedom like Henry Munroe."
And ‘twas early one morning when the sun was still low,
They murdered our hero brave General Munroe,
And high o’er the Courthouse stuck his head on a spear,
For to make the United men tremble and fear.
Then up came Munroe’s sister, she was all dressed in green,
With a sword by her side that was well-sharped and keen.
Giving three hearty cheers, away she did go
Saying, "I’ll have revenge for my brother Munroe."
All ye good men who listen, just think of the fate
Of the brave men who died in the year Ninety Eight.
For poor old Ireland would be free long ago
If her sons were all rebels like Henry Munroe.
1798 Homepage