Montreal Daily Star, 17 March 1911, page 8
Poems in Honour of St Patrick’s Day
Over here in England I’m helpin’ wi’ the hay,
An’ I wisht I was in Ireland the live-long day.
Weary on the English hay, an’ sorra take the wheat
Och! Corrymeels an’ the blue sky over it.
There a deep, dumb river flowin’ by beyont the heavy trees,
This livin’ air is moithered wi’ the hummin’ o’ the bees:
I wisht I’d hear the Claddagh burn go runnin’ through the heat
Past Corrymeela, wi’ the blue sky over it.
The people that’s in England is richer nor the Jews
There not the smallest young gossoon but thravels in his shoes!
I’d give the pipe between me teeth to see a barefut child,
Och! Corrymeala an’ the low south wind.
Here’s hands so full o’ money an’ hearts so full o’ care,
By the luck o’ love, I’d still go light for all I did go bare,
God save me, colleen dhas, I said; the girl she thought me wild,
Far Corrymeala, an’ the low south wind.
D’ye mind me now, the song at night is mortial hard to raise,
The girls are heavy goin’ here, the boys are ill to plase;
When one’st I’m out this workin’ hive, ‘tis I’ll be back again-
Ay, Corrymeala, in the same soft rain.
The smoke o’ smoke from one ould roof before an English town!
For a shaugh wid Andy Feelan here I’d give a silver crown,
For a curl o’ hair like Mollie’s ye’ll ask the like in vain,
Sweet Corrymeala, an’ the same soft rain.