The Boatmen of Kerry
The source for this song was Máire Bean Uí Shé, R.I.P, of Tooreens, Ghleann Mór agus an Coirean. She was the headmistress of Ghleann Mór School and a collector of song and folklore. She published two books ‘Glór na Ghleanna’ and ‘an Ghlaise Ghlé’. The composition was signed Heremon and is thought to have been written prior to 1900. This song was among her papers which she kindly made available to the ‘Binneas Project’.
Above the dark waters the seagulls are screaming;
Their wings in the sunlight are glancing and gleaming;
With keen eyes they’re watching the herrings in motion,
As onward they come from the wild, restless ocean.
Now, praise be to God for the hope that shines o’er us,
This season at least will cast plenty before us,
When safely returning with our hookes well laden,
How gaily will sound the clear laugh of each maiden.
Oh! Light as young fawns will they run down to meet us
With accents of love on the sea-shore to greet us;
While merrily over the waters we’re gliding,
Each wave as it rolls with our boat-stem dividing;
Till high on the beach every black boat is stranded
Her stout crew in health and in safety all landed
Near cabins, though humble, from where they can borrow
Content for the day and new hope for the morrow.
The loved of our maidens are boatmen of Kerry!
For stalwart and true are the boatmen of Kerry!
To guide the black hooker or scull the light wherry,
My life on the skill of the boatmen of Kerry!
The rich from the feasting may seek his soft pillow-
The plank is our bed and our home is the billow;
Our sails may be rent and our rigging be riven,
Yet no we no fear, for our trust is in heaven.
To the waves at the base of dark Brandon’s steep highlands,
To sand-bank and rock, near the green sapphire island,
The nets that we cast in the dark are no strangers-
The nets that we tend in all trials and dangers
From north, east or west though the wild winds be blowing,
Though waves be all madly or placidly flowing,
Those nets get us food when our children are crying,
Those nets give us joy when all sadly we’re sighing;
When signs in the bay lie around us and near us,
With thoughts about home to inspire and to cheer us-
When falls o’er the earth the grey shade of the even,
When gleams the first star in the wide vault of heaven.
Through gloom and through danger each bold boatman urges,
With sail or with oar, his frail boat through the surges.
The loved of our maidens are boatmen of Kerry!
For stalwart and true are the boatmen of Kerry!
To guide the black hooker or scull the light wherry,
My life on the skill of the boatmen of Kerry!
Though wealth is not ours, though our fortunes are lowly.
Our hearts are at rest, for our thoughts are all holy;
Oh! Who would it, that saw in fair weather
Our black boats assembled at anchor together-
Their crew all on board them prepared with devotion.
To list to the mass we get read on the ocean?
Oh1 there is the faith that of heaven is surest-
Oh! There is the religion highest and purest-
Oh! Could you but view them with eyes upward roving.
To god ever living-to God ever loving;
The deep wave beneath them, the blue heaven o’er them.
The tall cliffs around them, the alter before them.
You’d say, ‘tis a sight to remember with pleasure-
A sight that a poet would gloat o’er and treasure.
Oh’ ne’er shall my soul loose the lesson they’ve taught her-
These fishermen poor, with their mass on the water.
The loved of our maidens are boatmen of Kerry!
For religious and pure are the boatmen of Kerry!
To guide the black hooker or scull the light wherry,
My life on the skill of the boatmen of Kerry!
Heremon.
A’ wherry’ is an archaic word for a light rowboat for one person; skiff.