The Irish Rover

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)