On the fourth of July, eighteen-hundred and six We set sail from the sweet Cobh of Cork We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks For the grand City Hall in New York 'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aft And oh, how the wild wind drove her She stood several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts And they called her The Irish Rover We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags We had two million barrels of bones We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails We had four million barrels of stone We had five million dogs, six million hogs Seven million barrels of porter We had eight million hides of old blind horses' eyes In the hold of the Irish Rover There was oul' Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute When the ladies lined up for a set He would tootle with skill for each sparkling quadrille Till the dancers were fluther'd and bet With his smart witty talk, he was cock of the walk And he rolled the dames under and over They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance That he sailed in The Irish Rover There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee There was Hogan from County Tyrone There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work And a man from Westmeath called Malone There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule And fighting Bill Treacy from Dover And your man, Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann The skipper on the Irish Rover For a sailor it's always a bother in life It's so lonesome by night and day That he longs for the shore and a pretty young whore Who will melt all his troubles away Oh, the noise and the rout, swillin' poitín and stout For him soon is done and over Of the love of a maid, he is never afraid An old salt from the Irish Rover We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out And the ship lost its way in the fog And the whale of a crew was reduced down to two Meself and the Captain's old dog Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord! What a shock Tumbled and turned right over Turned nine times around, then the poor old dog was drowned The last of The Irish Rover
Banríon Na Mara
Unique Word Count: 132
Insa bhliain ocht gcéad déag ceithre scór is a dó D’fhág muid cuan Bhéal Feirste faoi sheol, Le himeacht linn siar chun na nIndiach Thiar Ar lorg an airgid ’s an óir. B’é ár gcaiftín Seán Mac Eoin a raibh neascóid ar a thóin, Is an chéad mháta Liam Ó hEaghra, Is bhí Séimí Mac a’ tSaoi agus Pádaí Dubh Mag Aoidh Mar fhoireann ar ‘Bhanríon na Mara’. Bhí seacht málaí déag, dhá bhairille agus ceaig, Líonta lán de chac capaill is bó. Bhí ocht mboscaí is fich’ lán de dhuilleoga ’s fraoch, Deich bhfidil is seanbhosca ceoil; Bhí cochán agus féar ’s iad i gceart is fá réir A d’fhás i nGaoth Dobhair ’s i nGaoth Beara, Is bhí cláirseach is cruit ’s dhá chéad buidéal de mhún cait Mar lasta ar ‘Bhanríon na Mara’. Sheol muid bliain is sé mhí agus d’éirigh an ghaoth, Agus shéid sí go tréan ar an long; Chuaigh sí síos go tóin poill ar nós báid fo thoinn dhaill, Is ní bhfuair muid a dhath ar a son. Cailleadh an fhoireann a bhí linn; báitheadh gach neach faoi thoinn Mar aon leis an lasta, a fheara! Chuaigh gach rud ar fán, ach tháinig mise slán; Is mé fuílleach ‘Bhanríon na Mara’.
-Liam Mac Carráin (nach maireann)