The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #35384 Message #4199754
Posted By: GUEST,Rory
25-Mar-24 - 10:17 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: Dearthrain O mo Chroi
Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Dearthrain O mo Chroi
Michael Hogan -"The Bard Of Thomond” (1828 - 1899), was not the author of this song. He did however write his own version which is a different song, and printed in his publication.
Draherin O Machree (Little Brother of my heart) Lays and legends of Thomond, by Michael Hogan, Vol 1,1865, p.8 First edition 1861
I grieve when I think on the dear happy days of my youth When all the bright dreams of this faithless world seem'd truth; When I stray'd thro' the green wood as gay as a midsummer-bee, In brotherly love with my Draherin O Machree.
Together we lay in the sweet-scented meadows to rest, Together we watch'd the gay lark as he sung o'er his nest, Together we pluck'd the red fruit of the fragrant hawtree, And I loved as a sweet-heart my Draherin O Machree.
His form was straight as the hazel that grows in the glen, His manners were courteous, and social, and gay among men; His bosom was white as the lily on summer's green lea- His God's brightest image was Draherin O Machree.
Oh! sweet were his words as the honey that falls in the night, And his young smiling face like the May-bloom was fresh and as bright; His eyes were like dew on the flower of the sweet apple-tree; My heart's spring and summer was Draherin O Machree.
He went to the wars when proud England united with France, His regiment was first in the red battle-charge to advance; But when night drew its veil o'er the gory and life wasting fray, Pale, bleeding and cold lay my Draherin O Machree.
Oh! if I were there I'd watch over my darling's last breath, I'd wipe his cold brow and I'd soften his pillow of death; I'd pour the hot tears of my heart's melting anguish o'er thee, Oh! blossom of beauty! my Draherin O Machree.
Perhaps in his death-pangs he wish'd that his loved one was near To clasp his cold hand, with a fond-breathing prayer and a tear! As he he gasp'd gas all neglected, with none but his Maker to see And pity my poor dying Draherin O Machree.
But I'm left to weep like the sorrowful bird of the night, This earth and its pleasures no more shall afford me delight; The dark narrow grave is the only sad refuge for me, Since I lost my heart's darling-my Draherin O Machree.
My soul has exhausted its treasure of tears for my love, He comes to my dreams from his home in the regions above; I long for the hour when my grief-worn spirit is free, To meet in those regions my Draherin O Machree.