| Title unknown "What is that curling flower of wonder As white as snow, as red as blood? When Death goes by in flame and thunder And rips the beauty from the bud. They left his blossom white and slender Beneath Glasnevin's shaking sod; His spirit passed like sunset splendour Unto the dead Fiannas' God. Good luck be with you, Michael Collins, Or stay or go you far away; Or stay you with the folk of fairy, Or come with ghosts another day. Shane Leslie (From poem written on seeing Sir John Lavery's painting of the dead Michael Collins) Appreciation to Adrienne Stefan for this poem Once again, a great web site. I was very happy to find it, as the kind of information you post is not easy to get at over here in any other way... |
| Tribute to the 'Big Fella' by Humphrey Murphey Bear him to that hallowed place, Where our deathless dead are resting; Where the spokesmen of our race Gather for the final questing. 'Mid the statesmen who have died, 'Mid the orators and writers, Make a splendid grave and wide, For this peerless prince of fighters. Press the kindly Irish earth On the breast so broad and fearless, Veil that laughing face, whose mirth Vanished, leaves us poor and cheerless. When the tempest lashed our land And the feeble lights had dwindled; He 'twas held the gleaming brand Where the fires of warfare kindled. Fearless, agile, unafraid, Cool to watch and cordon tightening; Rallying the half-dismayed, Teaching how to strike like lightning. God-like in the work achieved, Sunshine flashed through clouds of terror Still the captain unrelieved, Strove with faction, pride and error. Chivalrous, he fought his fight, Kindly, patient, unrevealing; Hopeful that the dawning light Would reveal the nation smiling. Lay his body in the earth, Giant frame and soul are riven, Think of Collins in his mirth And his prayer, "Be they forgiven." Miceal O'Coileain |
The Laughing Boy by Brendan Behan T'was on an August morning, all in the dawning hours, I went to take the warming air, all in the Mouth of Flowers, And there I saw a maiden, and mournful was her cry, 'Ah what will mend my broken heart, I've lost my Laughing Boy. So strong, so wild and brave he was, I'll mourn his loss too sore, When thinking that I'll hear the laugh or spinging step no more. Ah, cure the times and sad the loss my heart to crucify, That an irish son with a rebel gun shot down my Laughing Boy. Oh had he died by Pearse's side or in the GPO, Killed by an English bullet from the rifle of the foe, Or forcibly fed with Ashe lay dead in the dungeons of Mountjoy, I'd have cried with pride for the way he died, my own dear Laughing Boy. My princely love, can ageless love do more than tell to you, Go raibh maith agat for all you tried to do, For all you did, and would have done, my enemies to destroy, I'll mourn your name and praise your fame, forever, my Laughing Boy. Glossary: Mouth of Flowers is a translation of the townland Beal na Blath, where Michael Collins was ambushed and shot. |