Johnny Seoighe is still very well remembered, and sung, around the Conamara Gaeltacht to this day. And not without good reason.

Here's a text and translation of it, taken from the Joe Heaney Archive at http://www.joeheaney.org.

Amhrán Sheán Uí Sheoighe
A Sheáin Uí Sheoighe tuig mo ghlór is mé ag tigheacht le dóchas faoi do dhéint
Mar is tú an réalt eólais ba deise lóchrann dár dhearc mo shúil ariabh
Is tú bláth na h-óige is deise breághtha i dhearc mo shúil i d-Teampall Dé
Agus as ucht Chríost, tabhair dom relief go gcaithfear oidhche Nodlaig féin.

Lá ar na mháireach nuair i fuair mé an páipéar is mé a bhí sásta agus ghluais mé an siubhail
Ní bhfuair mé freagra ar bith an lá seo acht mé féin is mo pháistí amuigh faoi an drúcht
Tá mé caillte, bruighte, feannta, dóighte gearrtha ó neart an t-siúil
Agus i Mhister Joyce tá an Work-House lán agus ní glacfear ann isteach níos mó.

Nach mór an cliú do phoball Carna ó thosuigh an lánmhain seo ag dul thrid
Ba deise breághtha méin na mná ná an Morning Star nuair d'eirigheócha sí
Tá an Bhanríoghan tinn is i na luighe lag síos, deir na dochtúirí go bhfaoi sí bás
Sé fios m'údair go ndeir siad liomsa faoi nach bhfuil sí pósta ag Mr Joyce.

Seo amhrán eile a déanamh aimsir an droch shaoghail 1847. Rinne file é a dtugtaí Micheál Mharcuis = Micheál Mac Con Iomaire as Cárna nuair a chuaidh sé ag iarraidh leath-chloch mine buidhe ar Sheán Seoighe, an fear nó an máighistir a bhí ar an min agus deite sé é. Nuair a chinn air rinne sé an cheathramhadh dheireanach den amhrán ag moladh na mná agus thug an bhean an leath-chloch dó.

Translation

Johnny Seoighe, hear my voice as I come to you in distress; for you are the lodestar of truest light that my eye has ever beheld. You are the flower of youth, the fairest I have ever seen in God's temple; and for Christ's sake, give me relief until Christmas night is past.

The very next day I got the paper, and I was content as I walked away; but I got no reply that day, with my children and myself out under the dew. I am tormented, broken and flayed, burnt and gashed from all the walking; and Mister Joyce, the workhouse is full and won't accept any more.

Isn't it a great compliment to the Carna district since this couple began to frequent its streets! The woman's countenance is fairer and kinder than the morning star when it rises! The Queen is ill, lying weak in her bed, and the doctors say that she will die; and the reason is, as the doctors tell me, that she's not married to Mr Joyce.

Here's another song that was composed during the Famine 1847. A poet named Micheál Mharcuis, i.e. Micheál Mac Con Iomaire, from Carna, composed it when he went looking for a half-stone of yellow meal from Seán Seoighe, the man, or the master, who controlled the meal – and he refused him.2 When his appeal was denied, he composed the final stanza of the poem, praising the woman, and the woman gave him the half-stone [of meal].