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Broadside ballad entitled 'Granua's Lament Round O'Connell's Grave'




YOU mourning sons of this afflicted nation,
Attend with pity to my sad appeal,
For long and loud is the lamentations,
That swells the shores of pure Granuale;
A nations tears on the sad occasion.
Proclaims the loss of the last and brave,
On sable garments of desolation,
Poor Granua weeps round O'Connell's grave.

Well may we mourn our departed chieftian,
He was the bright apostle of our liberty,
And until the period of times existance,
Brave Daniel's equal we'll never see;
That tongue is silant that would restrain us,
The heart is cold that would ne'er deceive,
Religon's advocate and freedom's genius,
Lies hashed for ever in O'Connell s grave.

In the days of old, when the fierce enslavery,
With a rod of iron kept poor Erin down
In vain she called for her sons to save her,
But all were daunted by the torrents frown,
Till one arose before men and angels,
His mind as mighty as the ocean wave,
It was uncle Daniel repelled her dangers,
He sleeps for ever in a silent grave.

For three score years with sincere devotion,
He did endeavour for the rights of man,
In spite of the foes and state persecutors,
He faithfully stood for the rights of man,
Alike regardless of fear or favour,
His poor sinking country he strove to save,
And before he'd cling to the proud enslaver,
He'd sleep with honour in a freeman's grave.

Our creed they handled with degradation,
Our rights he proved, England would not allow,
Till in 29 he gained the Emancipation,
And tore the veil from religion's brow,
Deeds great and noble he did perform
To uphold the faith our Creator gave,
While strength remains in each Irish arm,
We'll guard from insult O Connell's grave.

No judge made lower could keep him under,
No fraud could bribe his mighty will,
For Ireland's rights with a voice like thunder,
He woke the echoes of Tara's hill,
In weal or woe he never violated,
The several confidences his station gave,
Rising generations to be created,
Shall view with reverence O'Connell's grave.

Now see the tomb where our hero slumbers,
Is consecrated by a nations tears,
In Irish record shall be remembered,
As the shrine of freedom in future years,
No selfish minion of vile oppression.
Or crown bought toy or hired knave,
With root of sacrilege shall never trample,
On the sod that covers O'Connells grave.

Now since brave dan is gone from our sight,
Before the throne of his judge to stand.
Let us pray sincerely to our blessed redeemer,
To grant him a portion in the promised land;
May his memory never meet with slander,
From false historians or party knaves,
Till St Michael's trumpet shall sound Judgement,
And sent asunder O'Connell's grave.

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Probable date published: 1847-   shelfmark: L.C.Fol.70(78a)
Broadside ballad entitled 'Granua's Lament Round O'Connell's Grave'
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