The Convict of Clonmala by Jeremiah Joseph Callanan, read for LibriVox.org by Délibáb.


HOW hard is my fortune,	
And vain my repining!	
The strong rope of fate	
For this young neck is twining.	
My strength is departed,
My cheek sunk and sallow,	
While I languish in chains	
In the gaol of Clonmala.	
 
No boy in the village	
Was ever yet milder;
I’d play with a child	
And my sport would be wilder;	
I’d dance without tiring	
From morning till even,	
And the goal-ball I’d strike
To the lightning of heaven.	
At my bed-foot decaying,	
My hurl-ball is lying;	
 
Through the boys of the village	
My goal-ball is flying;
My horse ’mong the neighbors	
Neglected may fallow,	
While I pine in my chains	
In the gaol of Clonmala.	
 
Next Sunday the pattern
At home will be keeping,	
And the young active hurlers	
The field will be sweeping;	
With the dance of fair maidens	
The evening they’ll hallow,
While this heart, once so gay,	
Shall be cold in Clonmala.



End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.