Wolfgang

Tipperary far away

The moon it shone down on old Dublin town
when the deadly fight was o'er,
thousands lay on the cold cold ground
their lives to claim no more.
The moon it shone on O'Connell Street
where a dying rebel lay
with his body gashed and his arms outstretched
and his life's blood flowing away.

A passing comrade heard the moans,
the sufferer soon was found.
Softly, gently he raised his head
up from the cold cold ground.
Softly, gently, "Comrade, he cried,
no longer on earth can I stay.
I will never more roam through my native home,
Tipperary so far away."

His comrades gathered around him
to bid him a last farewell.
He was as true and as brave a lad
that ever in battle fell.
They dug a grave and in it they laid
the bones of Sean Treacy so brave,
he will never more roam to his native home,
Tipperary so far away.

Sean Treacy died in Dublin, 14th of October, 1920.

The moon shone down in Talbot Street
Where a dying rebel lay.
His arms were crossed and his body was stretched,
And his life blood flowed away.

A passing comrade heard his moans,
And the sufferer soon was found.
He gently raised his aching head
Up from the cold damp ground.

'Softly, gently, comrade,' he cried,
'No longer on earth must I stay.
I will never more roam
to my own native home
In Tipperary far away.

A lock of my hair I pray you take,
To my mother far away,
And so as she will gaze on it,
She fondly will think of me.

Tell her it's down by the Liffeyside
My mouldering bones do lay.
There's a vision of light before me tonight,
In Tipperary far away.'

His comrades gathered round him
To bid him his last farewell.
He was as brave a young soldier
As ever in battle fell.

They dug a grave and beneath they laid
Sean Treacy, brave and gay,
Who will never more roam
To his own native home
In Tipperary far away.

This crops up in an appendix to 'Sean Treacy and the 3rd Tipperary Brigade' by Desmond Ryan (published by The Kerryman in Tralee in 1945. The Appendix is entitled 'Some Ballads of Sean Treacy. Apart from 'Tipperary Far Away' as given above, it also includes -

>a song of four eight-line verses in Irish (together with English translation and a footnote about its provenance);

>a song called 'Sean Treacy' of five quatrains;

>a song called 'The Station of Knockalong' of six quatrains; and

>a song called 'Ashtown Road (Air: 'The Snowy-Breasted Pearl').

If the above are of interest, I would be glad to post them.

Shoh slaynt,

Bobby Bob

Your version of 'Tipperary...' seems to be older for it gives the correct location of the incident (Talbot street). It makes sense that in a newer version the story gets transferred to the better known O'Connell street.

Wolfgang

Wolfgang

Footnote: This Irish ballad was supplied by Michael Fitzpatrick of Tipperary Town. In a note to the song it was stated that Miceal MacCártaigh, O.S., Bishopswood, Dundrum, had got it from Labhrais O Cadhla, O.S., Cappaquin, and Colaiste na Rinne. The author's name was not given. It was originally made to an air, older and more suitable to its subject than the one given, Spailpin a Rúain, an air resembling a caoine.

O Mild O'Treasaigh (Treacy)! I praise your strong hand,
Altho' you lie limp in the grave. Strong indeed
Was you part against the Saxon ravishers running
Stark mad through the land.
In the Tongue of the Bards your name will be on high
For your love for our own Love,
Each day you fought with courage and yet magnanimously,
Striving to bring her peace and victory.

We mourn that you are stretched low in your youth and
Bloom even as we await Freedom,
But your fame shall live as long as our heroes are
Commemorated in our land.
Before that slaughtering rabble that were hurled
On us from beyond the sea on the island of our
Ancestors, burning and ravagijg all Inis Fail, -
And shamelessly plundering the people -

Ah, well, but for you and your comrades, we should
Have been for ever like a beggar asking alms from
All and each. Because our wealth and store were
Swept away like mists from the hills.
Our sorrow and anguish were but a laughing stock and a mockery
To yon John of the destruction and
Slaughter: until we heard the noise of battle all around
Him, and felt the power of your rifles.

Sleep gently then, brave Soldier in the Churchyard
Beside your kindred. Until the day comes
When all the seed and kindred of Adam and Eve
Shall be called from their graves.
In God's Heaven may you be among the kind
And gentle kin of all the Gael,
And may it be my fate, to be with you in the presence
Of God's Only Son!

A Threasaigh cháidh! Molaim-se do láimh,
Cé go bfhuil tú 'san uaig anois.
Ba láidir tú i bpáirt i n-aghaidh Ropoirí Sheáin
Bhí ar buile 'sar fán trid an nduithche.
I dteangain na mBárd, béidh t'ainm go h-árd,
Mar gheall ar do ghrádh d'ár staire -
Do throidis gagh lá go meanmnach grádhach
Ag saothrú siothcán agus buaidh dhi.

Is truagh linn tú ar lár id' óige 'sid bhláth,
Nuair atáimid ag tnú le saoirse.
Ach mairfidh do cháil an fháid a bheidh trácht
Ar fhearaibh gan sgáth 'sa tír seo.
Roimh ghramaisg an áir do seóladh thar sáil'
I leith go h-oileán ár sínnsear,
Ag dóghadh 'sa robáil ar fuaid Inse Fâil,
'S ag creachadh gan náir' ár ndaoine.

Meireach tusa 's do shórt do bheimís go deó
Mar bhacaigh ag cur stró ar gach éinne
Mar do sgiobadh ár stór' sár maoin ós ár gcómhair
Mar sguabtar an ceó des na sléibhte.
Ba cheap-magaidh is spóirt ár mbuaidhreamh 'sár mbrón
Ag an Sgriosadóir Seón úd an Eirligh,
Gur airigh sé an gleó ar gach taobh de go beó,
'S gur mhothuigh sé cómacht bhúr bpiléar-na.

Anois codail go sámh, a Ogánaigh breágh,
'San roilg sin lámh led' ghaoltaibh,
No go dtagaidh an lá nuair a ghlaodhfar go h-árd
Ar ár shíolruigh ó Adhamh agus Eabha.
I bhFlathas na ngrást go rabhair go h-árd
I measg sgata breágh lághach de Gaedhealaibh,
Is go raibh sé indán dom féin tar éis bháis
Bheith i d' fhocair i láthair an Aon-Mhic!

Shoh slaynt,

Bobby Bob

We often heard our fathers tell how in the Fenian times
The noblest of Tipperary's sons imprisoned spent their lives.
These tales we can hear daily and the deeds of valiant men,
As the war goes on unceasingly through valley, hill and glen.

They searched for Sean at midnight, his comrade with him slept.
Macready's murdering bloodhounds in silence on them crept.
Our heroes fought as brave men should and made a gallant fight,
With bullet food they did conclude the lives of Smyth and White.

In a crowded Dublin street Sean died on a dim October day.
The story will be told with pride while men in Ireland stay.
With trusty gun held in his hand two sleuth-hounds he laid low.
'Twas well they knew this island through, they had no braver foe.

When the British saw the battle they shook with fear and dread.
A machine gun then did rattle and our hero bold fell dead;
"Sean Treacy killed, Sean Treacy killed!" was borne along the breeze.
No bells were rung, no caoine was sung, he died for Ireland free.

While grass grows green in Ireland we'll think of you, dear Sean,
We'll sing your praise through hill and dale till grief and gloom are gone.
And when the dawn of Freedom's sun shines out in Erin's skies;
In the Gaelic tongue we'll tell our sons how brave Sean Treacy died.

Slaynt reesht,

Bobby Bob

THE STATION OF KNOCKLONG

The news has spread thro' Ireland and spread from shore to shore
Of such a deed no living man has ever heard before,
From out a guarded carriage 'mid a panic-stricken throng
Sean Hogan he was rescued at the Station of Knocklong.

When a guard of four policemen had their prisoner minded well
As the fatal train sped o'er the rails conveying him to his cell,
The prisoner then could scarce foretell of hearts both brave and strong
That were planning for his rescue at the Station of Knocklong.

The shades of eve were falling fast when the train at last drew in.
It was halted for an hour or so by a few courageous men.
They sprang into the carriage and it did not take them long.
"Hands up or die" was the rebel cry at the Station of Knocklong.

Now King George's pampered hirelings they shrivelled up with fear,
And thought of how they placed in cells full many a Volunteer.
Now, face to face with armed men, to escape how they did long,
But two of them met with traitors' deaths at the Station of Knocklong.

From Solohead to Limerick such deeds as these were seen,
And devil a tear was ever shed for Wallace of Roskeen.
They did Old England's dirty work and that work too long,
But the renegades were numbered up at the Station of Knocklong.

Now rise up, Mother Erin, and always be of cheer.
You'll never die while at your side there stand such Volunteers.
From Dingle Bay to Garryowen the cheers will echo long
Of the rescue of Sean Hogan at the Station of Knocklong.

Slaynt dy mie,

Bobby Bob

It's important to know about Savage, otherwise a line could be misinterpreted! Martin Savage was a Lieutenant of the 2nd Dublin Battalion, but only went along because he met Sean Hogan on the night before. They all cycled out along the Cabra Road in Dublin to Ashtown Cross, to ambush Lord French, but themselves ran into an ambush.

ASHTOWN ROAD

(AIR: "THE SNOWY-BREASTED PEARL")

'Twas a cold December day
A lorry ploughed its way
Midst bullets splash and play
On Ashtown road.

In that car a living tool
Of England's hated rule.
There was begun a duel
On Ashtown road.

Young Savage, unafraid,
With rifle and grenade,
Attacked them, undismayed
On Ashtown road.

But a bullet laid him low
From a rifle of the foe.
That's another debt we owe
For Ashtown road.

But another day shall dawn
Like that cold December morn
When a Martyr's name was born
On Ashtown road.

We laid him in a grave
Where the willows sadly wave.
Oh, Son of Erin brave,
Farewell to thee.

As shen eh ass y lioar shoh,

Bobby Bob