Mudcat Café message #3587896 The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #153261   Message #3587896
Posted By: Jim Dixon
31-Dec-13 - 01:58 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: Arrest of Parnell
Subject: Lyr Add: THE ARREST (A. D. Godley)
Thanks to the guest above who provided the URL to archive.org.

I would bet this is the original and the other versions found above are derived from it—although I suppose it's possible that the poem below is a parody of something.

From Lyra Frivola by A. D. Godley (London: Methuen & Co., 1899), page 68:


THE ARREST (1881)

Come hither, Terence Mulligan, and sit upon the floor,
And list a tale of woe that's worse than all you heard before:
Of all the wrongs the Saxon's done since Erin's shores he trod
The blackest harm he's wrought us now—sure Doolan's put in quod!

It was the Saxon minister, he said unto himself,
I'll never have a moment's peace till Doolan's on the shelf—
So bid them make a warrant out and send it by the mail,
To put that daring patriot in dark Kilmainham gaol.

The minions of authority, that document they wrote,
And Mr Buckshot took the thing upon the Dublin boat:
Och! sorra much he feared the waves, incessantly that roar,
For deeper flows the sea of blood he shed on Ireland's shore!

But the hero slept unconscious still—'tis kilt he was with work,
Haranguing of the multitudes in Waterford and Cork,—
Till Buckshot and the polis came and rang the front door bell
Disturbing of his slumbers sweet in Morrison's Hotel.

Then out and spake brave Morrison—"Get up, yer sowl, and run!"
(O bright shall shine on History's page the name of Morrison!)
"To see the light of Erin quenched I never could endure:
Slip on your boots—I'll let yez out upon the kitchen doore!"

But proudly flashed the patriot's eye and he sternly answered—"No!
I'll never turn a craven back upon my country's foe:
Doolan aboo, for Liberty! . . . and anyhow" (says he)
"The Government's locked the kitchen-door and taken away the key."

They seized him and they fettered him, those minions of the Law,
('Twas Pat the Boots was looking on, and told me what he saw)—
But sorra step that Uncrowned King would leave the place, until
A ten per cent reduction he had got upon his bill.

Had I been there with odds to aid—say twenty men to one—
It stirs my heart to think upon the deeds I might have done!
I wouldn't then be telling you the melancholy tale
How Ireland's pride imprisoned lies in dark Kilmainham gaol.

Yet weep not, Erin, for thy son! 'tis he that's doing well,
For Ireland's thousands feed him there within his dungeon cell,—
And if by chance he eats too much and his health begins to fail,
The Government then will let him out from black Kilmainham gaol!