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- THREE SONGS TO THE ONE BURDEN
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- THE Roaring Tinker if you like,
- But Mannion is my name,
- And I beat up the common sort
- And think it is no shame.
- The common breeds the common,
- A lout begets a lout,
- So when I take on half a score
- I knock their heads about.
- i{From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.}
- All Mannions come from Manannan,
- Though rich on every shore
- He never lay behind four walls
- He had such character,
- Nor ever made an iron red
- Nor soldered pot or pan;
- His roaring and his ranting
- Best please a wandering man.
- i{From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.}
- Could Crazy Jane put off old age
- And ranting time renew,
- Could that old god rise up again
- We'd drink a can or two,
- And out and lay our leadership
- On country and on town,
- Throw likely couples into bed
- And knock the others down.
- i{From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.}
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- II
- My name is Henry Middleton,
- I have a small demesne,
- A small forgotten house that's set
- On a storm-bitten green.
- I scrub its floors and make my bed,
- I cook and change my plate,
- The post and garden-boy alone
- Have keys to my old gate.
- i{From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.}
- Though I have locked my gate on them,
- I pity all the young,
- I know what devil's trade they learn
- From those they live among,
- Their drink, their pitch-and-toss by day,
- Their robbery by night;
- The wisdom of the people's gone,
- How can the young go straight?
- i{From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.}
- When every Sunday afternoon
- On the Green Lands I walk
- And wear a coat in fashion.
- Memories of the talk
- Of henwives and of queer old men
- Brace me and make me strong;
- There's not a pilot on the perch
- Knows I have lived so long.
- i{From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.}
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- III
- Come gather round me, players all:
- Come praise Nineteen-Sixteen,
- Those from the pit and gallery
- Or from the painted scene
- That fought in the Post Office
- Or round the City Hall,
- praise every man that came again,
- Praise every man that fell.
- i{From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.}
- Who was the first man shot that day?
- The player Connolly,
- Close to the City Hall he died;
- Catriage and voice had he;
- He lacked those years that go with skill,
- But later might have been
- A famous, a brilliant figure
- Before the painted scene.
- i{From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.}
- Some had no thought of victory
- But had gone out to die
- That Ireland's mind be greater,
- Her heart mount up on high;
- And yet who knows what's yet to come?
- For patrick pearse had said
- That in every generation
- Must Ireland's blood be shed.
- i{From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.}
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