A Munster Keen

On Monday morning, the flowers were gaily springing
The skylark's hymn in middle air was singing,
When, grief of griefs, my wedded husband left me,
And since that hour of hope and health bereft me.
Ulla gulla, gulla g'one ! etc. etc.

Above the board, where thou art low reclining,
Have parish priests and horsemen high been dining,
And wine and usquebaugh, while they were able,.
They quaffed with thee — the soul of all the table.
Ulla gulla, gulla g'one ! etc. etc.

Why didst thou die ? Could wedded wife adore thee
With purer love than that my bosom bore thee ?
Thy children's cheeks were peaches ripe and mellow,
And threads of gold their tresses long and yellow.
Ulla gulla, gulla g'one ! etc. etc.

In vain for me are pregnant heifers lowing ;
In vain for me are yellow harvests growing ;
Or thy nine gifts of love in beauty blooming —
Tears blind my eyes, and grief my heart's consuming!
Ulla gulla, gulla g'one ! etc. etc.

Pity her plaints whose wailing voice is broken,
Whose finger holds our early wedding token,
The torrents of whose tears have drained their fountain,
Whose piled-up grief on grief is past recounting.
Ulla gulla, gulla g'one ! etc. etc.

I still might hope, did I not thus behold thee,
That high Knockferin's airy peak might hold thee,
Or Crohan's fairy halls, or Corrin's towers,
Or Lene's bright caves, or Cleana's magic bowers,
Ulla gulla, gulla g'one ! etc. etc.

But O my black despair ! when thou wert dying
O'er thee no tear was wept, no heart was sighing —
No breath of prayer did waft thy soul to glory ;
But lonely thou didst lie, and maimed and gory !
Ulla gulla, gulla g'one ! etc. etc.

O may your dove-like soul on whitest pinions
Pursue her upward flight to God's dominions,
Where saints' and martyrs' hands shall gifts provide thee-
And O my grief that I am not beside thee !
Ulla gulla, gulla g'one ! etc. etc.