O’Connell’s Young Daughter

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By Cornelius T. Finucane, Dover, N.H.

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I think of my home by Finanes airy mountains,

While I wander afar by New Hampshire’s wild fountains;

Yet I muse on them days when I strayed o’er the border,

With mine arms twined round thee, O’Connell’s Young Daughter.

Thy step was as light as great Mangerton’s roe,

Many smiles were concealed in thy cheeks ruddy glow.

Thy beamy eyes brighter than Sheelin’s blue water,

And swan-like the neck of O’Connell’s Young Daughter.

I have seen in Bokhara the heath-flower perfuming,

By Cronrea’s brown mountain the canavaun blooming,

The Captain’s Hill issue the Araglin’s water,

Near its first village slumbers O’Connell’s Young Daughter.

I think I see Claragh, so high, bold and airy,

And Muchra’s fair mountain, romantic and dreary.

From Meenganines slopes rushes forth the Blackwater,

Them borders gave birth to O’Connell’s Young Daughter.

These bright streams inundate the plains of Duhallow,

Their picturesque junction adjacent to Mallow.

Yet these high towering mountains and rippling waters

I’ve seen in my dreams of O’Connell’s Young Daughter.

Here the Falls of Niagara like thunder roar loudly,

O’er Michigan lake does the eagle soar proudly,

Yet dearer to me is the silent Blackwater,

Whose cool breeze oft fanned thee, O’Connell’s Young Daughter.

I have met with fair maidens in great Indiana,

With the White Mountain belles and the swells of Savannah,

Seen Missouri’s proud dames when equipped in great order,

But they cant compare with O’Connell’s Young Daughter.

In thy verdure and glow thy young bloom and splendour

Thy blood ceased to flow that intrusive avenger,

"Twas a mandate celestial from the dark vale of slaughter,

A terrestrial grave claimed O’Connell’s Young Daughter.

I have sung of this Nymph fair and sketched thee Duhallow,

I claim one flowing quart of the brown ale of Mallow;

Here’s farewell to the glen, to the glade, lawn and arbor,

Adieu: and Farewell to O’Connell’s Young Daughter.

Cornelius T. Finucane was born in Ireland 1876 and died in Dover, N.H. 1899

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OF LIGHTHOUSE,

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You muses nine in one now twine,

Your aid now lend to me,

In these condoling verses

I’ll send across the sea,

It’s of a peerless female,

All in her youth and cheer,

Forsook this life, left me in strife,

She’s charming Annie dear.

That mansion bold, I knew of old,

Where O’Connell famed doth dwell;

He had one lovely daughter,

And her I loved so well.

Grimdeath! How soon it called her,

I’m sure she should appear

Right in the presence of our Lord-

My charming Annie dear.

How oft in boyhoods happy days,

With Nancy I have strayed,

When she herdsmaid by the brook

With her I often played;

We talked of joy and pleasure,

Ne’er thought the day was near

When she should be departing,

My charming Annie dear.

There was a rose in Ireland,

Where Luna bright do shine;

There was a maid in Erin,

I once thought she’d be mine,

That the Autumn breezes withered,

And December ends the year,

Also with it who parted

But you my Annie dear.

Had I the love of Thomas Moore,

Or the wit of Owen Roe,

In Elegiac pages

My muse would quickly glow

In verses sweet I would repeat

A requiem soft and clear

On your indignant praises,

My charming Annie dear.

Her auburn hair in ringlets fair

Hung o’er her snowy neck,

Her ivory teeth and dark blue eyes,

Her features did bedeck;

But oh, she was too good to live,

No longer could stop here,

On New Years Day she passed away,

My charming Annie dear.

Had I the diamond of Queen Helen,

Or was I a duke or earl,

I’d sacrifice my jewelry

For you my darling girl.

Or I endowed the coast of Ireland

From Bengore to Cape Clear,

I’d bestow it on Jehovah

For you my Annie dear.

Oh was I a village sexton,

I’d toll the parting knell.

Was I a Grecian critic,

In dismal schemes I’d tell,

I would ascend Parnassus,

Or some mountain bright and clear

To expound this recitation

On you my Annie dear.

No more she’ll join the little group

By O’Connell’s great demesne,

Where in early youth I often roved,

Her favours for to gain.

No more she’ll join the merry dance,

The kitchen floor to cheer,

Or tip the keys she could at ease,

My charming Annie dear.

There is at least one more verse, which starts "As an exiled youth I must conclude"….Unfortunately the page was cut after that sentence.