| Padraic Colum (1881–1972). Anthology of Irish Verse. 1922. |
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| 112. The Convict of Clonmala |
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| By Jeremiah Joseph Callanan (Translated) |
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| 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. | |
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| 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; | |
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| 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. | |
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| 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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