The Boys of Barr na Sráide
The town it climbs the mountain and looks out on the sea.
At sleeping time or waking time, it’s there I’d like to be.
To walk again those kindly streets, in the place my life began,
With the Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
With cudgels stout we roamed about to hunt the gay dreólín*
We searched for birds in every furze from Litir to Dooneen.
We jumped for joy beneath the sky, life held no print nor plan
When the Boys of Barr na Sráide went hunting for the wren.
And when the hills were bleeding and the rifles were aflame.
To the rebel homes of Kerry, the Saxon strangers came,
But the men who dared the Auxies and fought the Black-and-Tans
Were the Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
But now they toil on foreign soil where they have gone their way,
Deep in the heart of London town or over on Broadway;
And I am left to sing their deeds and praise them while I can
Those Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
And here’s a health to them to-night, the lads who laughed with me.
By the groves of Carhan river or the slopes of Binn ‘a Tí;
Con Daly and Batt Andy and the Sheehans, Con and Dan,
Were the Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
When the wheel of life runs down and peace comes over me.
Just lay me down in that old town, between the hills and sea.
I’ll take my rest in those green fields, the place my life began,
With those Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
Sigerson Clifford
