Skip to main content

Crime & punishment

Brennan on the moor

(39) Brennan on the moor

                  BRENNAN

                           ON THE

                     MOOR.

It's of a fearless highwayman a story I will tell,
His name was Willy Brennan in Ireland he did dwell,
And on the Lilvert mountains he commenced his wild carcar;
Where many a wealthy gentleman before him shook with fear.
Brennan on the Moor, Brennan on the Moor,
Bold and undaunted stood bold Brennan on the moor.

A brace of loaded pistols, he carried night and day,
He never robbed a poor man upon the King's highway;
But what he'd taken from the rich like Turpin and Black Bees
He always did divide it with the widow in distress.

One night he robbed a packman his name was Pedler Bawn,
They travelled on together till day begen to dawn,
The pedlar seeing his money gone likewise his watch and chain,
He at once encountered Brennan and robbed him back again.

When Brennan seeing the pedlar was as good a man as he,
He took him on the highway, his companion for to be,
The pedlar threw away his pack, without any more delay,
And proved a faithful comrade until his dying day,

One day upon the highway as Willie he sat down,
He met the Mayor of Cashel, a mile outside the town,
The Mayor he knew his features, I think young man said he,
Your name is Willie Brennan you must come along with me

As Brennan's wife had gone to town provisions for to buy,
When she saw her Willie, she began to weep and cry,
He says, 'Give me that tenpence as soon, as Willie spoke
She handed him the blunderbuss from underneath her closk

Then with his loaded blunderbuss, the truth I will unfold.
He made the Mayor to tremble and robbed him of his gold,
One hundred pounds was offered for his apprehension there
And with his horse and saddle to the mountains did repair.

Then Brennan being an outlaw upon the mountains high,
Where cavalry and infantry to take him they did try,
He laughed at them with scorn until an length it's said,
By a false hearted young man he was basely betrayed.

In the Cunnty of Tipperary in a place they call Cloomore,
Willie Brennan and his comrade that day did suffer sore,
He lay among the fern which was thick upon the field,
And nine wounds he had receved before that he did yield

Then Brennan and his companion knowing they were betrayed,
He with the mounted cavalry a noble battle made,
He lost his foremost finger, which was shot off by a ball,
So Brennan and his comrade they were taken after all.

So they were taken prisoners, in irons they were bound.
And conveyed to Clonmel jail, strong walls did them surround
They were tried and found guilty, the judge made this reply,
For robbing on the King's highway, yon are both condemned
to die.

Farewell I unto my wife, and to my children three,
Likewise my aged father, he may shed tears for me,
And to my loving mother, who tore her gray looks, and cried
Saying, "I wish Willie Brennan, in your cradle you had died "

[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]

 MOTHER'S FAR AWAY.

J. White, Printer, Rose Place, Liverpool.

One cold winter's night my dear mother died.
In her last, dreamy moment I k by her
She kissed me so sweetly, and told me to pray,
She said that she'd meet me in heared some day.
She taught me to keep from the path of all sin,
And pray to my Maker to think only of him;
There's no love like a mother's, you'll say I'm not
wrong,
But seldom she's missed till she's dead and gone.

She has gone she has left me, I mourn night and
day,
My mother so kind she is now far away ;
I cannot be happy, I once was her joy.
Dear mother in heaven look down on your boy.

I hope she has gone to a far better shore,
On earth my dear mother I'll ne'er see her more
When living, my mother she was good and kind
There's no love on this earth like a mother's yeu'll
find,
I think of the night when she left me alone
And the village churchyard when I often did roam
I shed tearson her grave as I kneel down and pray
To dear father and mother but they're far away.

In this wide world of sorrow we oft go astray.
We heed not the words a kind mother may say ;
I'm a poor orphan boy, how sad is my fate,
I think of poor mother both early and late :
Sometimes when dreaming sweet visions I see,
That angels in heaven will watch over me,
And I care not how soon my time comes to die,
To dwell with my father and mother on high.

Images and transcriptions on this page, including medium image downloads, may be used under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence unless otherwise stated. Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence