Hanlon Folklore

On Douglas Bridge I met a man
Who lived adjacent to Strabane,
Before the English hung him high
For riding with O’Hanlon.

The eyes of him were just as fresh
As when they burned within the flesh;
And his boot-legs were wide apart
From riding with O’Hanlon.

God save you, Sir, I said with fear,
You seem to be a stranger here.
Not I, said he, nor any man
Who rides with Count O’Hanlon.

I know each glen from North Tyrone
To Monaghan, and I’ve been known
By every clan and parish, since
I rode with Count O’Hanlon.

Before that time, said he to me,
My fathers owned the land you see;
But they are now among the moors
A-riding with O’Hanlon.

Before that time, said he with pride,
My fathers rode where now they ride
As Rapparees, before the time
Of trouble and O’Hanlon.

Good night to you, and God be with
The tellers of the tale and myth,
For they are of the spirit-stuff
That rides with Count O’Hanlon.

Good night to you, said I, and God
Be with the chargers, fairy-shod,
That bear the Ulster heroes forth
To ride with Count O’Hanlon.

On Douglas Bridge we parted, but
The Gap o’ Dreams is never shut,
To one whose saddled soul to-night
Rides out with Count O’Hanlon.

A shepherd that lives on Slieve Gullion
Came down to the County Tyrone,
And told us how Redmond O'Hanlon
Won't let the rich Saxons alone!
He rides over moorland and mountain,
By night, till a stranger is found,
Saying, 'Take your own choice for a lodging:
Right over or under the ground!'

If you whistle out 'Whoo!' like a native
He leaves you the way to go clear;
If you squeeze out a 'Hew!' like a Scotsman,
You'll pay him a guinea a year.
But if you cry 'Haw!' like a Saxon,
Och, then, 'tis your life or your gold!
By stages Count Redmond O'Hanlon
Gets back what they plundered of old!

Old Coote of Cootehill is heartbroken;
And Johnston beyond in the Fews
Has wasted eight barrels of powder
Upon him, but all to no use!
Although there's four hundred pounds sterling
If Redmond you'd put out of sight;
Mind, if the heart's dark in your body,
'Tis Redmond will let in the light.

The great Duke of Ormond is frantic -
His soldiers get up with the lark
To catch this bold Redmond by daylight;
But Redmond caught them in the dark.
Says he, when he stripped them and bound them.
Take back my best thanks to his Grace
For all the fine pistols and powder
He sent to this desolate place!'

Then, here's to you, Redmond O'Hanlon!
Long may your Excellency reign
High ranger of woods and of rivers,
Surveyor of mountain and plain!
Examiner-in-Chief of all traitors!
Protector of all that are true.
Henceforward, King Charlie of England
May take what he gets, after you.

There was a man lived in the north, a hero brave and bold
Who robbed the wealthy landlords of their silver and their gold
He gave the money to the poor, to pay their rent and fee
For Count Redmond O'Hanlon was a gallant rapparee

Chorus:
Then hurrah for Count O'Hanlon
Redmond O'Hanlon
Hurrah for Count O'Hanlon
The gallant rapparee

He had a noble big, black horse that was his joy and pride
A brace of loaded pistols, he carried by his side
He roamed the hills and valleys with a spirit wild and free
Count Redmond O'Hanlon, the gallant rapparee

Chorus

'Twas high upon Slieve Gullion that he used to ply his trade
And Squire Johnson from the fews, this handsome offer made
He said "I'll give four hundred pounds to hang him from a tree"
But, not a man in all the land would sell the rapparee

Chorus

They sent the soldiers after him to try and bring him back
O'Hanlon only laughed at them upon the mountain track
And while the soldiers slept that night among the mountain gorse
He stole their guns and rode away upon his noble horse

Chorus

'Twas back in 1681 that Count O'Hanlon died
And still along Slieve Gullion's slopes, they speak of him with pride
And anyone will tell you from Rathfriland to Forkhill
That in the silence of the night, you'll hear him riding still

Chorus

Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame
And it makes us all part of the patriot game

My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen
My home is in Monaghan, and where I was weaned
I learned all my life cruel England's to blame
So now I am part of the patriot game

It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA
I learned of our heroes, and wanted the same
To play my own part of the Patriot game

This island of ours has too long been half free
Six counties lie under John Bull's tyranny
So I gave up my boyhood to drill and to train
And that made me a part of the Patriot game

They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair
His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame
They soon made me part of the patriot game

But now as I lie here, my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained in souls
And I wish that my rifle had given the same
To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game

It was on a dreary New Year's Eve
as the shades of night came down.
A lorry load of volunteers
approached a border town.
There were men from Dublin and from Cork,
Fermanagh and Tyrone,
but the leader was a Limerick man,
Sean South of Garryowen.

And as they marched along the street
up to the barracks door,
they scorned the dangers they would face,
their fate that lay in store.
They were fighting for Old Ireland's cause
to claim their very own,
and the foremost of that gallant band
was Sean South of Garryowen.

But the sergeant foiled their daring plan,
he spied them through the door.
Then the sten guns and the rifles
a hail of death did pour,
and when that awful night was past
two men lay cold as stone.
There was one from near the border
and one from Garryowen.

No more he will hear the seagulls cry
or the murmuring Shannon tide,
for he fell beneath a northern sky,
brave O'Hanlon by his side.
They have gone to join that gallant band
of Plunkett, Pearse and Tone,
another martyr for Old Ireland,
Sean South of Garryowen

'Twas on Bavan-meadow Green that our lads a choice sixteen
Of Omeath's athletic team, were football playing,
Where, from noon the game went on 'til old Sol was set and gone,
Yet no score, not even one, by either claiming.
Two well matched teams in action full of dash and fearless tacklin'
In their pace no gale of March-wind could o'ertake them,
And of all those maidens fair who came just to stand and stare,
None but felt a heart-beat quare, in admiration.

Now to mention every name and each man, in this great game
I should like to do that same, with much affection,
Young O'Neill would be the first, for the ball he never missed,
With his foot or fist he'd shoot in true direction,
Then big Sár Ma' Cuarta tall see him jumpin' for the ball!
Head and shoulders over all, like Fionn the giant;
And the two O'Murley Boys, swift as swallows in the skies,
With O'Hagan brothers vying to outshine them.

Standing ready in the goals is wee O'Duffy on his toes,
Like Setanta facing foes on Eamain Macha;
While O'Morgan and O'Hare, two full backs beyond compare,
Overthrow all daring efforts to get past them.
And the boys up in the ruck O'Hanlon, Cassley and O'Ruarc
Where the tussle for possession is a hard one,
Till O'Conn'ly's quick snatch grips the ball and in a flash
Sends it soaring high and far across the Bavan.