| lyric | While the bright flow'rs are blowing
While the glad Spring is glowing,
My young life sworn away,
in Clonmel Gaol I lie.
From my bride broken hearted,
From my friends harshly parted,
For a crime not my own doomed at daybreak to die.
Oh my love never more shall your fond arms embrace me.
By cold chains they’re replaced in the Goal of Clonmala.
How hard is my fortune, how vain my repining
The strong rope of death for this young neck is turning.
My strength is departed, my cheeks sunk and sallow
While I pine in my chains in the gaol of Cluan Meala.
At my bedfoot decaying, my hurley is lying,
Through the lads of the village my goal ball is flying.
My horse 'mong the neighbours neglected may fallow
While I languish in chains in the gaol of Cluan Meala.
No boy in the village as ever yet milder
I'd play with a child and my sport be no wilder.
I'd dance without tiring from morning to evening
And my goal ball I'd strike to the lightning of heaven.
Next Sunday the Pattern at home will be keeping
All the lads of the village the field will be sweeping.
The dance of the fair maidens the evening will hallow
While this heart once so gay will be cold in Cluan Meala |