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User Name Thread Name Subject Posted
GUEST,Big Tim Lyr Req: Banks of the Moy / Michael Davitt (12) Lyr Add: Weep, Irishman, weep, every tear which... 18 Jan 08


Davitt died on 30 May 1906 and the following poem was written in the same year. The author was M.J. Flanagan of Cloonahulta, Kiltimagh, Mayo (Davtt's native county, of course). Flanagan was a teacher at Cloonfallagh National School. Cloonfallagh is a townland just south of famed Kilkelly so maybe the author knew the family made famous in that song!

Weep, Irishman weep, every tear which you shed,
Consecrate to the noble and pure,
Yes, weep, reflect though your Davitt is dead,
His fame through all time shall endure.

Weep, rather red ice that your sun though gone down,
In splendour unclouded has sat,
What monarch would spurn not both sceptre and crown,
For a throne in his peoples' heart set.

Weep Erin, if tears should be shed at the shrine,
Of the fearless and foremost in fight
Whose suffrage, whose life and labours were thine,
From the dawn to the dark of night.

While Switzers revere and remember their Tell,
Kosciusko, while dear to the Pole,
Thy name and thy fame, Michael Davitt shall dwell,
Deep deep in each Irishman's soul.

Yes, the waters of Mask may dry up in the sun,
Mangerton sink down to a plain,
But the laurels thy labours, thy triumphs have won,
Ever glorious and green shall remain.

Ye waves of Atlantic that circle our sod,
In language of ocean so plain,
Go tell every nation erected by God
Of the loss which today we sustain.

While Nephin looks down on Lough Conn's water set,
Like a sapphire embraced in his shade,
Shall the fond heart of Erin with loving regret
Brood lone o'er the cloisters of Straide.

Sleep on, from the sod that grows over thy clay,
A bright wreath of shamrock shall burst
To hollow the brow at no far future day,
Of our nation mid nations the first.

Sleep on, with thy sires, while the waves of the west
Shall murmur the song of repose,
Defender of right, ever foremost and best,
Bravest courage of our bitterest foes.

While the shamrock grows green o'er our Emerald Isle,
While her rivulets oceanward veer,
Through adversity's frown, through prosperity's smile,
Shall thy name noble Davitt be dear.

(Yea, Martin, you could be right!).

Line length changed to emphasize the rhyme.--JoeClone, 19-Jan-2008


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