The Rover

No more — no more in Cashel town
I'll barter health a-raking,
Nor on days of fairs rove up and down,
Nor join the merry-making.
There mounted farmers came in throng
To seek to hire me over, —
Now I'm hired, and my journey's long,
The journey of the Rover.

I've found, what Rovers often do,
I trod my health down fairly;
That wandering o'er the dawning dew
Will gather fever early.
No more shall flail swing o'er my head,
Nor my hand a spade-shaft cover,
But the colours of France will float, instead,
And a pike stand by the Rover.

When to Callan once, with hook in hand,
I'd go for early shearing,
Or to Dublin town, — a welcome grand
Met the Rover gay appearing.
And soon with savings home I'd go
And my mother's field delve over,
But no more — no more this land shall know
My name as the merry Rover.

Five hundred farewells, Fatherland!
My loved and lovely Island, —
And to Culach boys, they'd better stand
Her guards by glen and highland.
But now that I am poor and lone,
A wand'rer, — not in clover —
It makes my very heart's core moan
I ever lived a Rover.

In pleasant Kerry lives a girl,
A girl whom I love dearly,
Her cheek's a rose, her brow's a pearl,
And her blue eyes beam so clearly!
Her long fair locks fall curling down
O'er a breast untouched by lover —
More dear than dames with a hundred pound
Is she unto the Rover.

Ah, once, indeed, my own men drove
My cattle in no small way,
With cows, with sheep, with calves, they'd move,
With horses, too, to Galway.
Christ willed I'd lose each horse and cow
And my health but half recover —
It breaks my heart for her sake now
I'm only a sorry Rover.

But when once the French come o'er the main,
With stout camps in the valley,
With Buck O'Grady back again
And poor true Taig O'Dally —
The royal barracks shall soon decay,
The yeomen we'll chase over,
And the Gaelic clann shall bear the sway —
'Tis the strong hope of the Rover.