The Ballad of Father O'Hart

Good Father John O'HartIn penal days rode outTo a shoneen who had free landsAnd his own snipe and trout.

In trust took he John's lands;Sleiveens were all his race;And he gave them as dowers to his daughters,And they married beyond their place.

But Father John went up,And Father John went down;And he wore small holes in his shoes,And he wore large holes in his gown.

All loved him, only the shoneen,Whom the devils have by the hair,From the wives, and the cats, and the children,To the birds in the white of the air.

The birds, for he opened their cagesAs he went up and down;And he said with a smile, "Have peace now";And he went his way with a frown.

But if when any one diedCame keeners hoarser than rooks,He bade them give over their keening;For he was a man of books.

And these were the works of John,When weeping score by score,People came into Coloony;For he'd died at ninety-four.

There was no human keening;The birds from KnocknareaAnd the world round KnocknasheeCame keening in that day.

The young birds and old birdsCame flying, heavy and sad;Keening in from Tiraragh,Keening from Ballinafad;

Keening from Inishmurray,Nor stayed for bite or sup;This way were all reprovedWho dig old customs up.