THE CRY OF THE DREAMER

(Poem: John Boyle O'Reilly* - Music trad. Arr. Seàn Tyrrell)

I am tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men;
Heart weary of building and spoiling
And spoiling and building again.
And I long for that dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away;
For a dreamer he lives forever,
And a toiler will die in a day.

I am sick of the showy seeming
Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces that are lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thoughts' endeavour
I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer he lives forever
And a thinker dies in a day.

I can feel no pride but pity
For the burden the rich endure;
There's nothing sweet in the city
Save the patient lives of the poor.
Ah, the little hands too skillful,
And the child-mind choked with weeds!
The daughter's heart that's grown willful,
And the father's heart that bleeds!

No, No! From the street's rude bustle
From the thropies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the wood's low rustle
And the meadows' kindly page
Let me dream as of old by that river,
And be loved for the dream always;
For a dreamer he lives forever
And a spoiler will die in a day.

Sung by Seàn Tyrrell on "Cry of a dreamer" (1995)

* John Boyle O'Reilly: born near Drogheda, nearly in the shadow of Tara. Enlisted in the English Cavalry in order to convert fellow Irishmen to fenianism. He was arrested, court-martialed and transported to Australia. He escaped on board an American whaler and on arrival in Boston he soon became involved in anti-slavery activity. He was a man of immense integrity and on his death he was mourned by America from the President to the man-in-the street.