THE POMONA
As sung by John Furlong (2017)

As I roved out one morning just at the early dawn,
For to consult the Muses down by a grassy lawn,
There I met with Pandora, in confusion she was tossed,
Saying on Blackwater’s sandbanks four hundred lives were lost.

On the twenty-seventh of April from Liverpool set sail,
This gallant ship Pomona with a sweet and pleasant gale,
Bound for the land of plenty, for ‘Freedom’ was her toast,
And nothing interrupted her till on the Wexford coast.

Her crew were thirty-five, all seamen stout and bold,
Beside four hundred passengers that never were controlled.
Then by fictitious reckoning most cruelly she was tossed
On Blackwater’s shoals or sand-banks, or coral reefs or rocks.

Soon after that she struck the bank and then we may suppose,
Unto the God of glory each conscience did disclose,
Petitioning for mercy to the great good God on high,
With mountain billows roaring beneath the dismal sky.

With her rigging and her bulwark and her steerage torn away,
Wasn’t that a dreadful sight to see in Wexford Bay.
’Twas on that dreadful crisis her captain stood amazed,
With cruelty he bound them down to meet their watery grave.

Now to conclude and finish my sad and tragic tale,
For those that fell the victim His mercy we appeal;
And to their great Creator for them we’ll ever pray,
That He may cancel all their sins upon the Judgment Day.