Verse > Padraic Colum > Anthology of Irish Verse
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Padraic Colum (1881–1972).  Anthology of Irish Verse.  1922.
 
112. The Convict of Clonmala
 
By Jeremiah Joseph Callanan (Translated)
 
 
HOW hard is my fortune,
And vain my repining!
The strong rope of fate
For this young neck is twining.
My strength is departed,        5
My cheek sunk and sallow,
While I languish in chains
In the gaol of Clonmala.
 
No boy in the village
Was ever yet milder;        10
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        15
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;        20
My horse ’mong the neighbors
Neglected may fallow,
While I pine in my chains
In the gaol of Clonmala.
 
Next Sunday the pattern        25
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,        30
While this heart, once so gay,
Shall be cold in Clonmala.
 

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