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07 Dec 04 - 12:07 PM (#1349993) Subject: Lyr Req: Lament for Padraig O Conaire From: GUEST,JTT Would anyone have the words of FR Higgins' beautiful poem Lament for Padraig O Conaire? It starts: They've paid their last respects in sad tobacco And silent is the wake house in its haze and a couple of other lines are Ah, Padraig of the wide and sea-cold eyes, So generous, so courteous and noble The very West was in his soft replies. I don't think this poem has ever been put to music, though it would make a fabulous song with the right air. |
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30 Oct 05 - 05:52 PM (#1593799) Subject: Lyr Add: PADRAIC O'CONAIRE GAELIC STORYTELLER From: GUEST Here it is: PADRAIC O'CONAIRE GAELIC STORYTELLER by F.R. Higgins They've paid the last respects in sad tobacco And silent is this wakehouse in its haze; They've paid the last respects; and now their whiskey Flings laughing words on mouths of prayer and praise; And so young couples huddle by the gables. O let them grope home through the hedgy night - Alone I'll mourn my old friend, while the cold dawn Thins out the holy candlelight. Respects are paid to one loved by the people; Ah, was he not - among our mighty poor - The sudden wealth cast on those pools of darkness, Those bearing, just, a star's faint signature; And so he was to me, close friend, near brother, Dear Padraic of the wide and sea-cold eyes - So, lovable, so courteous and noble, The very west was in his soft replies. They'll miss his heavy stick and stride in Wicklow - His story-talking down Winetavern Street, Where old men sitting inthe wizen daylight Have kept an edge upon his gentle wit; While women on the grassy streets of Galway, Who hearken for his passing - but in vain, Shall hardly tell his step as shadows vanish Through archways of forgotten Spain. Ah, they'll say, Padraic's gone again exploring; But now down glens of brightness, O he'll find An alehouse overflowing with wise Gaelic That's braced in vigour by the bardic mind, And there his thoughts shall find their own forefathers - In minds to whom our heights of race belong, in crafty men, who ribberd a ship or turned The secret joinery of song. Alas, death mars the parchment of his forehead; And yet for him, I know, the earth is mild - The windy fidgets of September grasses Can never tease a mind that loved the wild; So drink his peace - this grey juice of the barley Runs with a light that ever pleased his eye - While old flames nod and gossip on the hearthstone And only the young winds cry. |
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09 May 06 - 08:28 AM (#1736104) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Padraic O'Conaire Gaelic Storyteller From: GUEST,Philippa whatever happened to Padraic's statue that was in Eyre Square? by the way, he was a rather modern-style writer among Gaelic-language authors of his time |
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09 May 06 - 10:49 AM (#1736169) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Padraic O'Conaire Gaelic Storyteller From: MartinRyan People were developing a taste for decapitation - they moved him to the local museum! Regards |
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09 May 06 - 07:47 PM (#1736641) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Padraic O'Conaire Gaelic Storyteller From: GUEST,JTT I think he'd have liked that; he liked to get off his head himself, from all accounts. |