Paddy Joe McMahon Wild Raparee

Paddy Joe McMahon from Miltown Malbay, Dec 2 1931 - Jan 4 1986

Oh, green are the fields that are washed by the Finn
And splendid the homes that the spoilers live in
And rich are the crops in the valley, ah, me!
But the heath is the home of the Wild Raparee.

There are clouds like great mountains o'er Barnas tonight
The hare seeks his den by the moon's feeble light,
And the wild heath of Gadragh is bleak as the sea
'Twill be lonely tonight for the Wild Raparee.

Night thickens. The clouds o'er the canopy spread,
The night owl springs up with a scream from her bed.
The clouds point their lightnings. No shelter has he,
God help the poor wanderer, the Wild Raparee.

On the bleak heath alone where the winds fiercely howl,
He creeps to his hiding among the wild fowl
No cry greets his advent: their comrade is he,
And they dream not of harm from the Wild Raparee

But who be those horsemen so late in the storm?
And what seems that glare? 'Tis the King's uniform!
God grant that awake and not sleeping he be:
There are hounds on the track of the Wild Raparee.

'Tis morn, and the horsemen return from the heath.
But the sword of the foremost is not in its sheath,
Ah, no! on its bright point, all gory to see
Is the head of the outlaw, the Wild Raparee