THE SCOTCHWOMAN’S CURSE
by Stephen Wynne
On the shore of Coranbinnie, oh! The fleet was gathered thick!
From the Bridge to Catherine’s Island you could travel deck to deck.
From the Eastward and the Westward smacks were gathered big and small
To the Bay of Coranbinnie, ‘mid the hills of Donegal
On the shores of Coranbinnie ‘neath a glimmering Autumn sky
Men spoke low to one another for the Sea ran cruel high.
No breath of air was stirring yet it stormed the crags with might
And on each black spine of rock the surf was torn white.
Yet the bay was full of herring that to-morrow might be gone
And a rich and plenteous harvest there was waiting to be won.
So they moored their smacks up channel, from the surf they moored them far,
And they pulled their creaking cobles out across the plunging bar.
Sunset flared and flickered wildly as the nets were shot that night
Overhead the circling seagulls screamed in clamorous delight.
For the shoals were moving up and moving, men could smell them on the tide
Fathoms deep could spy the flashing where there turned a silvery side.
So the buoys dipped low and under as the herring took the mesh –
Little cared such lycky fishers if the breeze was rising fresh.
On a sudden with a blackness and a gusty scud of wind
From the West it swung to Northward, came a raging sea behind.
As a whale among the herring, so the storm among its prey
Plunged and drove them, scattered wildly broadcast over all the Bay.
Ah! The nets were cut adrift then with their store of silvery prize
But more than nets were missing when the morning cleared the skies.
Some were split on Carigfada, some where now the beacons are
But most were smashed and scattered in the fury of the Bar.
To the shore by Coranbinnie when the seas were calm and fair
Came a widow out of Scotland, after word had travelled there.
Her face was young and comely but her eyes were strange and set
In her hand she held a claspknife and a trail of herring net.
She knelt Ah! But her eyes were strange; she knelt beside the wave
She knelt as one might kneel beside a newly covered grave.
Then on the broad bare sea beach she stripped her to the skin
And out into the water deep and far she waded in.
Bosom deep by Coranbinnie looking out across the Bay
She cut her white breast open, red and deep she left the scar.
And in the crimson current that trickled down her side,
She dipped the net to redness and cast it in the tide.
“I a widow out of Scotland lay a curse upon this Bay –
On this Bay that drown our husbands, swept our share of life away!
Too rich in fish you ever were, Ah! Coranbinnie shore.
You lured the men that married us; you lured the sons we bore
From the light of their warm firesides to the shore of your cold cliffs –
Lured them to face the Winter and its tempests in their skiffs!
By this net once twined for herring – now it’s baked in widow’s blood-
I lay a curse upon you, oh, salt and bitter flood!
May never herring shoal here, nor fishers draw a net
Till a widow’s nightly sorrow shall have learned how to forget.
Till the care that eats into me shall have passed and set men free
Till the boy that I have growing be too old to go to Sea.”
Blood flowed while she was speaking and they say the sea was red
From the strand at Killyhoey to the cliffs at Breaghy Head.
For a generation’s passing if so be the truth is told,
Came no fish to Coranbinnie till the young men had grown old.
Yet there came no smacks from Scotland let the fish be there or no,
From the witchcraft wrought upon them by the weight of woman’s woe.
(Coranbinnie—old name for Horn Head)
THE MAID OF CRUCKNAFARRAGH
Oh the twilight’s on the hill
And the dew is on the heather
And the moorfowl in the dell
Warmly rest this night together.
Love – the gentle hunter elf
Comes and wounds them with his arrow,
And it’s he who makes myself
Rake each night to Crucknafarragh.
Upper Purt, Lower Purt,
Casey and Kildarragh
Oh! They all have left my heart
Now I rake to Crucknafarragh.
Well I mind it yet, the night
When I first began the roaming
All the stars above were bright
For the winter’s depth was coming.
All the old men, looking out,
Said ‘twould freeze their very marrow.
But their truth I had to doubt
As I raked to Crucknafarragh.
Upper Purt, Lower Purt,
Casey and Kildarragh
It was clear to roam them all
But I went to Crucknafarragh.
Once a journey I was bound,
It was mid-day in the Summer
Yet I thought it darkening round
Every step which took me from her.
Coming home one Wintry night
I had fiddled in Falcarragh
Sure I never knew daylight
Till I came to Crucknafarragh!
Upper Purt, Lower Purt,
Casey and Kildarragh
When there’s darkness o’er them all
Still there’s light in Crucknafarragh.
She’s as gentle as the young
Of the lark among the clover
And as joyous as the song
That it sings the whole day over.
And even Beauties self
Said in voice of seeming sorrow
“Oh I never met my match
Till I came of Crucknafarragh”.
Upper Purt, Lower Purt,
Casey and Kildarragh
To- night I’ll lift the latch
At her home in Crucknafarragh
In the winter every night
I have raked the Country over
And there’s not a maiden bright
But I was some time her lover.
I have seen them, everyone
All that Doe could beg or borrow,
But I never met my love till I came
to Crucknafarragh.
Upper Purt, Lower Purt,
Casey and Kildarragh.
Oh I never met my love
Till I came to Crucknafarragh!
THE MAID OF MARBLEHILL
Beyond Sheephaven’s foaming tide three dreary miles away
Unto a maid who there resides a visit I must pay.
For there a thousand times a day my thoughts against my will
Cross o’er, and bid me follow them to the Maid of Marblehill.
My love’s a young and handsome maid the sunlight’s in her hair
The spring dwells in her breath so sweet and on her cheeks so fair.
Her whispers sound like far-off streams, when the Autumn eves are still
And her eyes keep Winter distant from the groves of Marblehill.
When mellow evening lights the west I wander by the shore
And think had men been made with wings how quickly I’d fly o’er!
For then my wings against my thoughts would strive to show their skill,
But I’d clip them when I’d reach the side of the Maid of Marblehill
And oft when winds and waves are calm beneath the moonbeams clear
I then unmoor my little boat and o’er the waters steer.
I know my steamship is small, but true love gives me skill,
For at the voyage-end I meet the Maid of Marblehill.
But when the waves too wildly rage for even love to dare,
I take a weary round-a-bout when I met her there.
From Carrigart, o’er Lackagh Bridge, through Creeslough Town, until
At the end of nine long miles I meet the Maid of Marblehill.
My sorrow on Sheephaven Bay, for I often wish it dry,
That I might take a near-cut to where my affections lie,
Oh had I Moses’ mystic rod I’d use it with good will
And make a road to walk dry-shod from here to Marbelhill.
Through long and lonely Wintry nights I sigh for dawn in pain
And when the sickly light has come I sigh for night again.
Neither joy nor peace can e’er be mine either day or night until
She’s by my side my wedded bride, the Maid of Marblehill.
DEEP SHEEPHAVEN BAY
Away behind the Rosses hills, the sun had sunk to rest
The latest bird in shady bower, had sought that night its nest.
On such an hour through lonely groves the thoughtful love to stray
And fishermen cast out their nets by Deep Sheephaven Bay.
On that night there a maiden fair stood by the peaceful shore,
Her cheeks blushed like the purple heath on the side of Ganimore.
And softly falling o’er her neck her golden ringlets lay
Like evening sun reflected back from Deep Sheephaven Bay.
And by her side a young man stood of noble looks was he
A stalwart lad and stout and strong of ready speech and free.
The bloom of health was on his cheeks his spirits light and gay
Such men the Irish mothers raise by Deep Sheephaven Bay.
Say who that saw a lad so brave and who a girl so fair
Would wonder if they should be told they dear to others were.
Or who that saw her blushing deep to every word he’d say
Would need to ask their thoughts that night by Deep Sheephaven Bay.
He took her hand into his own and to her side he drew
Farewell, he said, ’tis sweet to know there’s one heart ever true.
The thoughts of her I parted from in the Autumn evening grey
Will cheer my lonely vigil out by Deep Sheephaven Bay.
This night from out the ocean mist your fair young face I’ll see
And look again as oft you looked and seem to smile on me.
The winds shall whisper in my ears the words we used to say
When meeting often by the shores of Deep Sheephaven Bay.
To his curragh then he lightly stepped, and firmly seized the oar,
His back was to the ocean blue his face was to the shore.
And waving one more fond adieu, he quickly rowed away.
To toil among the fishermen of Deep Sheephaven Bay.
Soon from the North a breeze came forth and loud and stronger blew
The starlight of the Autumn night, to inky blackness grew.
The waves that erst while had not moved were soon lashed into spray,
And wildly tossed each craft about by Deep Sheephaven Bay.
Then many a prayer ascended to the power that rules the wave
That those who toiled out in the deep might not find watery graves.
The invocation seemed in vain the waves would have their prey
Were hearts to break for the loved ones sakes lost in Sheephaven Bay.
The fires were lit on Breaghy Head and lights on Downings Pier
To guide to home and family the ones they loved so dear.
With hopeful hearts and sinews strong, they conquered o’er the spray
But one there was who came not back from Deep Sheephaven Bay.
A father mourned his stalwart boy, a mother mourned her son
A sister and a brother wept their dear companion gone,
But there was one in secret wept with a heart as sore as they
And mourned her own true lover lost by Deep Sheephaven Bay.
Down at the point of bleak Melmore there lives a grey old maid
And often in the wintry nights her well worn beads are said;
And gazing o’er the rolling waves she’ll move her lips and pray
For the boy whose bones are bleaching white by Deep Sheephaven Bay.
And many a time she woke and slept and sighed and mourned since then
And many a time her faintest smile was sought by other men
But still in memory she is true to the boy who passed away
And perished in the raging waves of Deep Sheephaven Bay.
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN
In an old Irish cot sits an old Irish farmer
His head bent with sorrow, his eyes filled with tears
He is thinking to-night of the light-hearted colleen
He banished from home in the past bygone years.
In the hush of the twilight the past comes before him
Again on his knees her night prayers are said,
And the poor aged father alone in the gloaming,
Cries out in his anguish to her who has fled.
Kathleen Mavourneen why do you roam
In the land of strangers over the bounding foam
The old man is waiting your face again to see
Come back Mavourneen Acushla Machree.
It is ten years tonight since with Kathleen I parted
The old man exclaimed with a heart broken voice
I drove her away from the homestead with curses
Because she had married the lad of her choice.
I have lands, I have gold, but I have no one to love me
The old lady is dead and I am left all alone.
I’d give all I had for a glimpse of my darling
To say I’d forgive you my Kathleen, my own.
The Church Bells were ringing their glad Christmas Tidings.
When Kathleen returned to her home o’er the main.
By the grave of her mother the past was forgiven
And Kathleen was united to her father again.
In that Old Irish cot, now is oft heard the laughter
Of children who with their Grandfather play.
He blessed the husband, the children and mother
As Kathleen has returned he has no cause to say.
THE MAIDS OF BARNES GAP
‘Twas a frosty night in Winter time
The stars shone bright above.
When I espied a maiden weeping sore
Who seemed to be in love.
And as she strayed a Paisley shawl
Around her she did wrap.
As she wandered on that wintry night
Through lonely Barnes Gap.
With her two soft hands upon her face
She wandered bit by bit,
Until she came to the spot
Where once there stood the hut.
But when she saw its blackened “site”
It made her quickly stop.
Saying “Stars above my own true love
Was banished from the Gap”.
Oh, vanished dreams that I have dreamt
Of happy days to come.
When living with my policeman
In our own Irish home.
For many a time he told me this
When sitting on his lap,
I would be mistress of his home
In lonely Barnes Gap.
My true love was so handsome too
And still so kind to me.
For a husband I would chance him too
If they had let him be.
His shaven face and soft moustache
His tunic belt and hat.
Oh, what a beauty was the lad
That loved me in the Gap.
Then o’er the heathery mountain
Four other maidens came
And by the words they said I knew
They all wept for the same.
As each one tore her lovely hair
She her two soft hands would clasp
No more we’ll meet our lover sweet
In lonely Barnes Gap.
The policemen in other parts
Have something else to do
To catch each thief and burglar
And drunken rowdy too.
For every night a faction fight
Or drunken row they stop
But to court us Irish lasses
Was their duty in the Gap.
What will we do for sweethearts true
Since they have gone away.
And none are nearer to us now
Than Creeslough or Glenveigh.
But I’d single live before I’d wed
“A dirty farmer chap”,
So the curse of five old maids on those
Who sent them from the gap.
Then every one dispersed again
The very way she came,
And the last sad words they uttered were
“We love them still the same”.
Then in each glen and valley,
O’er hills and mountain top
Their cries where heard to echo
Through the rocks in Barnes Gap.
Then every maid who loves such men
Just heed this story true
Or if you don’t the same sad fate
Will happen yet to you.
They’ll leave you yet, so think of that,
And all your flirting stop
Or if you don’t take care that they
Don’t leave you in a gap.
MY FLORA
There’s none in this wide world so happy as I
As I and my Flora, my Flora and I.
I’ll go down to my Flora and this I will say
When shall we get married love, tell me this day.
Indeed then young shepherd, that day is not come
For I am too little besides I’m too young.
I’ll first go to service and when I return
And we shall get married, if love carries on.
According to promise to service she went
To wait on a lady, a rich lady gay
To wait on a lady, a rich lady gay
And she decked fair Flora in costly array.
I sent her a letter to keep her in mind
She returned me an answer that was far from being kind.
She told me she led such a contented life
That she ne’er would resign to be a poor shepherd’s wife.
Ye high hills and mountains I bid you adieu
My pen and my scribbling I leave unto you.
My look, crook and whistle I will all resign,
Since unconstant Flora, has changed her mind.
When I was young I was as red as the Rose,
Now I’m as pale as the lily that blows
Like a flower in Autumn I’m faded and gone
And you see what befell me for loving too young.
LILY DALE
‘Twas a calm still night and the moon’s pale light
Shone soft o’er hill and dale.
And friends mute with grief stood around
The deathbed
Of my poor lost Lily Dale.
Oh Lily sweet Lily, my Lily Dale.
There the blackbird sits and whistles
O’er yon little green grave
Beneath the trees in yon flowery vale.
Her cheeks that once glowed by the rose tint of health
By the hand of disease had turned pale
And the death damp stood o’er the pure white brow
Of my own lost Lily Dale.
Oh Lily sweet Lily, my Lily Dale.
There the blackbird sits and whistles
O’er yon little green grave
Beneath the trees in yon flowery vale.
“I will go”, she said “To the land of rest”
But ere my strength shall fail,
I will tell you where near my own loved home
There you lay me Lily Dale”.
Oh Lily sweet Lily, my Lily Dale.
There the blackbird sits and whistles
O’er yon little green grave
Beneath the trees in yon flowery vale.
Beneath the chestnut tree, where the wild flowers grow
Where the stream ripples forth through the Vale,
Where the birds do warble their songs in the Spring
There you lay me Lily Dale.
Oh Lily sweet Lily, my Lily Dale.
There the blackbird sits and whistles
O’er yon little green grave
Beneath the trees in yon flowery vale.
We smoothed down the lock of her bright golden hair
And we folded her hands on her breast
And we laid her to sleep in yon Valley so fair
‘Neath the blossoms of Summer to rest.
Oh Lily sweet Lily, my Lily Dale.
There the blackbird sits and whistles
O’er yon little green grave
Beneath the trees in yon flowery vale.
AILEEN DHILIS OF ATHENREE
Come men and maidens attend with patience
Whilst I relate my sad plaintive tale.
Ensnared my Cupid I’m grown quite stupid
Since love alone has my breast assailed.
All by a fair maid who has ensnared me
Daily increases my misery.
My heart is breaking for that bright fair one
Called Aileen Dhilis of Athenree.
As I roved out one Summer morning
Been in the charming sweet month of May
There I espied that killing charmer
As though an arbour I chanced to stray.
Struck with amazement on her I gazed
I being seized most suddenly
For love that moment possessed my bosom
For my Aileen Dhilis of Athenree.
Her cheeks resemble the new blown roses
Her lips like rubies balmy and thin
Beside she had a dimpled chin.
The Goddess Flora or bright Aurora
Or Diogenes of high degree
Or Grecian Helen was never equal
To my Aileen Dhilis of Athenree.
Her parents daily slight and degrade me
Because my portion was poverty
One single hour, they wont allow her
To spend her time in my company.
Had I my love in some lonesome valley
A Cushla, a gradh agus a stor mo chroidhe
In hopes to gain her I’d court the favour
Of my Aileen Dhilis of Athenree.
Since by her friends I am basely slighted
And ill requited all by my love
Some distant nation shall be my station
As for her sake I’m resolved to roam.
Through shady bowers and fragrant flowers
There I’ll lament for that charming she
Until death demands me none shall command me
But Aileen Dhilis of Athenree.
A TRIP TO FLANDERS
First when I came to this place, with you I fell in love
Let nothing ever separate us except the Powers Above.
For I know very well it’s you I love and you I do adore
And if I do not gain your love I’ll roam the wide world o’er.
But Katie you’re inconstant the worst of womankind
For all the vows you made to me they are all gone out of mind.
You’re promised for to marry me on the 10th of the last month
You promised for to marry me all on a Summer’s day.
If I promised for to marry you I’d scorn to break my vow
Believe me my dear girl I said I ne’er could come to now.
For all the money that e’er I made- I made by land- not sea,
I’d spend it all with pleasure, all in your company.
But I’ll take a trip to Flanders, and lead a single life
Whilst amongst the bold commanders the gun shall be my wife.
A store of money I will get, to the tavern I will go,
And I’ll drink a health to the girl I love, in spite of weal or woe.
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