Maureen Shea by John Gibbons. John was from Hazel Rock he
emigrated to NYC
where he joined the Police Force. After he retired he began writing
poetry.
The poem was published in the New York Times.
When Maureen died, the banshee cried
A dirge of sorrow at the dawn
And many a fervent prayer was said
and many a tear of grief was shed
That summer Morn' in Gorthbawn.
A hundred years and five she lived
Yet, not one angry bitter word
Through all the changeful years and long
The years of trial and of wrong
From Maureens lips were ever heard
She was the last, last living link
That bound us with long ago
She saw the red-coats in retreat
Before the Frenchmen down the street
When Humbert landed in Mayo.
She was a little girsha then
A Frenchman who was passing there
A tricolor ribbon to her gave
And many a time in after years
SHe wore the ribbon in her hair
The tears would often fill her eyes
When speaking of famine years
The hunger-victims' pleas and moans,
There agonised and dying groans
Were ever ringing in her ears
The mothers and their starving babes
With none to still their dying cries
The sires and sons like spectres dread
Upon the roadside starved or dead
Were ever there before her eyes
She never spoke or tried to speak
In English speech to old or young
"The blight fell first" she used to say
The famine came upon the day
The children lisped the strangers tongue
Her prayers went straightway from her heart
With many a tear and many a sigh
A gushing streamlet rich and pure
For all God's creatures, rich and poor
And reached the throne of God on High
When Maureen died the banshee cried
Before the lake a dirge of woe
The bond that linked us with the past
Was broken, sundered at the last
The hour when Maureen was laid low
She rests beneath the abbey shade
May heaven reward you Maureen Shea
And in the awful hour of need
May your bright soul in Heaven plead
For those who walk the land today