The Old Court Kanturk

What grand majestic pile is this,
Which tourists eyes engage
'Tis hallowed ground it stands upon,
By Dallua's lovely edge.
Surrounded by the lofty beech,
Where rook and raven sport,
In solitude and splendour towers,
The noble fam'd "Old Court"

The gentle river flowing nigh,
A requim chants alway
For the chieftains and the warriors bold,
Who have long since passed away----
For Duhallow's true hearted gallant sons,
Who by the Old Court" dreamed,
Of freedom for their native land,
Dear Erin Isle of Green.

Alas! their high hopes unrealised,
They sank into the grave;
Yea! each had strived with fervent zeal,
Their dear lov'd land to save.
But the tyrant's arm harsh and strong
Prov'd mightier than theirs,
Though the struggle yet unconsummated
Is waged adown the weary years.

'Twas Duhallow's Chief "McCarthy More"
Did raise the "Old Court" high;
In freedom's cause beneath its walls,
He hoped to fight-aye! die;
But vain the hope this structure grim,
Complete he never saw,
For a cruel ban was placed upon
His work by alien law.

Yet, but one more example sad,
Of Erin's failures, doubts and fears,
That she has patiently endured
For nigh eight hundred years.
And yet how longer still, we sigh,
Shall our poor suffering land,
Be crushed beneath the invader's feet,
And strangled by his hand?

But the dawn of a brighter era,
Now appeareth 'bove her shore;
The dark storm clouds are drifting by,
That long our Isle hung o'er.
When the cherish'd dreams of her patriot sons,
Who gave their life for thee-
Their suffering Grauna proudly enthroned,
'Mong the nations proud and free

Denis J. Foley,