Phil Lynott-The Vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley

Several Welsh families, associates in the invasion of Strongbow, settled in the west of Ireland.  Of these, the principal whose names have been preserved by the Irish antiquarians were the Walshes, Joyces, Heils (a quibus MacHale), Lawlesses, Tomlyns, Lynotts, and Barretts, which last drew their pedigree from Walynes, son of Guyndally, the Ard Maor, or High Steward of the Lordship of Camelot, and had their chief seats in the territory of the two Bacs, in the barony of Tirawley, and county of Mayo, Clochan-na-n'all, i.e. 'the Blind Men's Stepping-stones', are still pointed out on the Duvowen river, about four miles north of Crossmolina, in the townland of Garranard; and Tubber-na-Scorney, or 'Scragg's Well', in the opposite townland of Carns, in the same barony.  The earldom was in the hands of de Burgo, who, living as an Irish chieftain named himself MacWilliam; the de Burgo name became Burke.

Scorna Boy, the Barretts' bailiff, lewd and lame,

To lift the Lynotts' taxes when he came,

Rudely drew a young maid to him;

Then the Lynotts rose and slew him,

And in Tubber-na-Scorney threw him

            Small your blame,

            Sons of Lynott !

Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.

Then the Barretts to the Lynotts proposed a choice,

Saying, 'Hear, ye murderous brood, men and boys,

For this deed today ye lose

Sight or manhood: say and choose

Which ye keep and which refuse;

            And rejoice

            That our mercy

Leaves you living for a warning to Tirawley.'

Then the little boys of the Lynotts, weeping, said,

'Only leave us our eyesight in our head.'

But the bearded Lynotts then

Made answer back again,

'Take our eyes, but leave us men,

            Alive or dead,

            Sons of Wattin !'

Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley!

O'er the slippery stepping-stones of Clochan-na-n'all

They drove them, laughing loud at every fall,

As their wandering footsteps dark

Fail'd to reach the slippery mark

And the swift stream swallow'd stark,

            One and all,

            As they stumbled -

From the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.

Of all the blinded Lynotts one alone

Walk'd erect from stepping-stone to stone:

So back again they brought you,

And the second time they wrought you

With their needles; but never got you

            Once to groan,

            Emon Lynott,

For the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.

But with prompt-projected footstep sure as ever,

Emon Lynott again cross'd the river,

Though Duvowen was rising fast,

And the shaking stones o'ercast

By cold floods boiling past;

            Yet you never,

            Emon Lynott,

Faltered once before your foemen of Tirawley !

But, turning on Ballintubbcr bank you stood,

And the Barrctts thus, bespoke oer the flood -

'Oh, ye foolish sons of Wattin,

Small amends are these you've gotten,

For, while Scorna Boy lies rotten,

            I am good

            For vengeance !'

Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.

'For 'tis neither in eye nor eyesight that a man

Bears the fortunes of himself and his clan,

But in the manly mind,

And loins with vengeance lined,

That your needles could never find

            Though they ran

            Through my heart-strings !'

Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.

'But little your women's needles do I reck:

For the night from heaven never fell so black,

But Tirawley, and abroad

From the Moy to Cuan-an-fod,

I could walk it, every sod,

            Path and track,

            Ford and togher,

Seeking vengeance  on you, Barretts of Tirawley !

'The night when Dathy O'Dowda broke your camp,

What Barrett among you was it held the lamp -

Show'd the way to those two feet,

When through wintry wind and sleet,

I guided your blind retreat

            In the swamp

            Of Beal-an-asa?

0 ye vengeance-destined  ingrates of Tirawley !'

So leaving loud-shriek-echoing Garranard,

The Lynott like a red dog hunted hard,

With his wife and children seven,

'Mong the beasts and fowls of heaven

In the hollows of Glen Nephin,

            Light-debarr'd,

            Made his dwelling,

Planning vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.

And e'er the bright-orb'd year its course had run,

On his brown round-knotted knee he nurs'd a son,

A child of light, with eyes

As clear as are the skies

In summer, when sunrise

            Has begun;

            So the Lynott

Nursed his vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.

And, as ever the bright boy grew in strength and size

Made him perfect in each manly exercise,

The salmon in the flood,

The dun deer in the wood,

The eagle in the cloud

            To surprise

            On Ben Nephin,

Far above the foggy fields of Tirawley.

With the yellow-knotted spear-shaft, with the bow,

With the steel, prompt to deal shot and blow,

He taught him from year to year

And train'd him, without a peer,

For a perfect cavalier,

            Hoping so -

            Far his forethought -

For vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.

And, when mounted on his proud-bounding steed,

Emon Oge sat a cavalier indeed;

Like the ear upon the wheat

When winds in Autumn beat

On the bending stems, his seat;

            And the speed

            Of his courser

Was the wind from Bama-na-gee o'er Tirawley !

Now when fifteen sunny summers thus were spent,

(He perfected in all accomplishment)

The Lynott said, 'My child,

We are over long exiled

From mankind in this wild -

            Time we went

            Through the mountain

To the countries lying over-against Tirawley.'

So, out over mountain-moors, and mosses brown,

And green stream-gathering vales, they journey'd down;

Till, shining like a star,

Through the dusky gleams afar,

The bailey of Castlebar,

            And the town

            Of Mac William

Rose bright before the wanderers of Tirawley.

'Look southward, my boy, and tell me as we go,

What seest thou by the loch-head below.'

'Oh, a stone-house strong and great,

And a horse-host at the gate,

And their captain in armour of plate

            Grand the show !

            Great the glancing !

High the heroes of this land below Tirawley !

'And a beautiful Woman-chief by his side,

Yellow gold on all her gown-sleeves wide;

And in her hand a pearl

Of a young, little, fair-hair'd girl.

'Said the Lynott, 'It is the Earl !

            Let us ride

            To his presence !'

And before him came the exiles of Tirawley.

'God save thee, Mac William, 'the Lynott thus began

God save all here besides of this clan;

For gossips dear to me

Are all in company -

For in these four bones you see

            A kindly man

            Of the Britons -

Emon Lynott of Garranard of Tirawley.

'And hither, as kindly gossip-law allows,

I come to claim a scion of thy house

To foster; for thy race

Since William Conquer's days,

Have ever been wont to place

            With some spouse

            Of a Briton,

A Mac William Oge, to foster in Tirawley.

'And to show thee in what sort our youth are taught,

I have hither to thy home of valour brought

This one son of my age,

For a sample and a pledge

For the equal tutelage,

            In right thought,

            Word, and action,

Of whatever son ye give into Tirawley.'

When Mac William beheld the brave boy ride and run,

Saw the spear-shaft from his white shoulder spun -

With a sigh, and with a smile,

He said, -'I would give the spoil

Of a county, that Tibbot Moyle,

            My own son,

            Were accomplish'd

Like this branch of the kindly Britons of Tirawley.'

When the Lady Mac William she heard him speak,

And saw the ruddy roses on his cheek,

She gaid,'I would give a purse

Of red gold to the nurse

That would rear my Tibbot no worse;

            But I seek

            Hitherto vainly -

Heaven  grant that I now have found her in Tirawley !'

So they said to the Lynott, 'Here, take our bird !

And as pledge for the keeping of thy word

Let this scion here remain

Till thou comest back again:

Meanwhile the fitting train

            Of a lord

            Shall attend thee

With the lordly heir of Connaught into Tirawley.'

So back to strong-throng-gathering Garranard,

Like a lord of the country with his guard,

Came the Lynott, before them all,

Once again over Clochan-na-n'all,

Steady-striding, erect, and tall,

            And his ward

            On his shoulders;

To the wonder of the Welshmen of Tirawley.

Then a diligent foster-father you would deem

The Lynott, teaching Tibbot, by mead and stream,

To cast the spear, to ride,

To stem the rushing tide,

With what feats of body beside,

            Might beseem

            A Mac William,

Foster'd free among the Welshmen of Tirawley.

But the lesson of hell he taught him in heart and mind:

For to what desire soever he inclined,

Of anger, lust or pride,

He had it gratified,

Till he ranged the circle wide

            Of a blind

            Self-indulgence,

Ere he came to youthful manhood in Tirawley.

Then, even as when a hunter slips a hound,

Lynott loosed him - God's leashes all unbound -

In the pride of power and station,

And the strength of youthful passion,

On the daughters of thy nation,

            All around,

            Wattin Barrett !

Oh ! the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley !

Bitter grief and burning anger, rage and shame,

Fill'd the houses of the Barretts where'er he came;

Till the young men of the Bac

Drew by night upon his track,

And-slew him at Cornassack

            Small your blame,

            Sons of Wattin !

Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.

Said the Lynott, 'The day of my vengeance is drawing near,

The day for which, through many a long dark year,

I have toil'd through grief and sin -

Call ye now the Brehons in,

And let the plea begin

            Over the bier

            Of Mac William,

For an eric upon the Barretts of Tirawley.'

Then the Brehons to Mac William Burke decreed

An eric upon Clan Barrett for the deed;

And the Lynotts' share of the fine, -

As foster-father, was nine

Ploughlands and nine score kine-,

            But no need

            Had the Lynott,

Neither care, for land or cattle in Tirawley.

But rising, while all sat silent on the spot,

He said, 'The law says - doth it not? -

If the foster-sire elect

His portion to reject,

He may then the right exact

            To applot

            The short eric.'

"Tis the law,' replied the Brehons of Tirawley.

Said the Lynott, 'I once before had a choice

Proposed me, wherein law had little voice;

But now I choose, and say,

As lawfully I may,

I applot the mulct today;

            So rejoice

            In your ploughlands

And your cattlewhich I renounce throughout Tirawley.

'And thus I applot the mulct: I divide

The land throughout Clan Barrett on every side

Equally, that no place

May be without the face

Of a foe of Wattin's race

            That the pride

            Of the Barretts

May be humbled hence for ever throughout Tirawley.

'I adjudge a seat in every Barrett's hall

To Mac William: in every stable I give a stall

To Mac William: and, beside,

Whenever a Burke shall ride

Through Tirawley, I provide

            At his call

            Needful grooming,

Without charge from any hosteler of Tirawley.

' This lawfully I avenge me for the throes

Ye lawlessly caused me and caused those

Unhappy shamefaced ones,

Who, their mothers expected once,

Would have been the sires of sons

            O'er whose woes

            Often weeping

I have groan'd in my exile from Tirawley.

'I demand not of you your manhood; but I take -

For the Burkes will take it - your Freedom! for the sake

Of which all manhood's given,

And all good under heaven,

And, without which, better even

            Ye should make

            Yourselves barren,

Than see your children slaves throughout Tirawley!

'Neither take I your eyesight from you; as you took

Mine and ours: I would have you daily look

On one another's eyes,

When the strangers tyrannize

By your hearths, and blushes arise,

            That ye brook,

            Without vengeance,

The insults of troops of Tibbots throughout Tirawley !

'The vengeance I design'd, now is done,

And the days of me and mine nearly run -

For, for this, I have broken faith,

Teaching him who lies beneath

This pall, to merit death;

            And my son

            To his father

Stands pledged for other teaching in Tirawley.'

Said Mac William -'Father and son, hang them high !'

And the Lynott they hang'd speedily;

But across the salt sea water,

To Scotland, with the daughter

Of Mac William - well you got her!

            Did you fly,

            Edmund Lindsay,

The gentlest of all the Welshmen of Tirawley !

'Tis thus the ancient Ollaves of Erin tell

How, through lewdness and revenge, it befell

That the sons of William Conquer

Came over the sons of Wattin,

Throughout all the bounds and borders

Of the land of Auley MacFiachra;

Till the Saxon Oliver Cromwell,

With his valiant Bible-guided

Free heretics of Clan London

Coming in, in their succession,

Rooted out both Burke and Barrett,

And in their empty places

New stems of freedom planted,

With many a goodly sapling

Of manliness and virtue;

Which while their children cherish

Kindly Irish of the Irish,

Neither Saxon nor Italian,

May the mighty God of Freedom

            Speed them well

            Never taking

Further vengeance on his people of Tirawley.