Odonnelly, an Ode by Morgan Odoherty.
I.
When green Erin laments for her hero removed,1
From the Isle where he flourished, the Isle that he loved,2
Where he entered so often the twenty foot lists,3
And, twinkling like meteors, he flourished his fists,4
And gave to his foes more set downs and toss overs,5
Than ever was done by the greatest philosophers,6
In folio, in twelves, or in quarto,7
Shall the harp of Odoherty silent remain,8
And shall he not waken its music again ?9
Oh ! yes with his soul and his heart too !10
II.
Majestic Odonnelly ! proud as thou art,11
Like a cedar on top of Mount Hermon,12
We lament that death shamelessly made thee depart,13
In the gripes, like a blacksmith or chairman,14
Oh ! hadst thou been felled by Tom Crib in the ring15
Or by Carter been milled to a jelly,16
Oh ! sure that had been a more dignified thing,17
Than to kick for a pain in your belly !18
III.
A curse on the belly that robbed us of thee,19
And the bowels unfit for their office ;20
A curse on the potyeen you swallowed too free,21
For a stomach complaint, all the doctors agree,22
Far worse than a headache or cough is.23
Death, who like a cruel and insolent bully, drubs24
All those he thinks fit to attack,25
Cried Dan, my tight lad, try a touch of my mulligrubs,26
Which soon laid him flat on his back !27
IV.
Great spirits of Broughton, Jem Belcher, and Fig,28
Of Corcoran, Pierce, and Dutch Sam ;29
Whether up stairs or down, you kick up a rig,30
And at intervals pause your blue ruin to swig,31
Or with grub, your bread baskets to cram.32
Or, whether for quiet you’re placed all alone33
In some charming retired little heaven of your own,34
Where the turf is elastic, in short just the thing35
That Bill Gibbons would choose when he’s forming a ring,36
That wherever you wander you still may turn too,37
And thrash and be thrashed till your all black and blue ;38
Where your favourite enjoyments for ever are near,39
And you eat, and you drink, and you fight all the year ;40
Ah ! receive then to join in your milling delight,41
The shade of Sir Daniel Donnelly, knight ;42
With whom a turn up is no frolic ;43
His is no white or cold liver,44
For he beat Oliver, 45
Challenged Carter, and died of the colic !46
V.
Bad luck to my soul,47
But I’ll fill the punch bowl,48
To the brim with good stingo ; and so Nelly49
Don’t let the toast pass you,50
But fill up your glass to51
Demolishing Daniel Donnelly.52