MY name it is Hugh Reynolds, I come of honest parents, Near Cavan I was born, as plainly you may see; By loving of a maid, one Catherine MacCabe, My life has been betrayed; she's a dear maid to me. The country were bewailing my doleful situation, But still I'd expectation this maid would set me free; But, oh! she was ungrateful, her parents proved deceitful, And though I loved her faithful, she's a dear maid to me. Young men and tender maidens, throughout this Irish nation, Who hear my lamentation, I hope you'll pray for me; The truth I will unfold, that my precious blood she sold, In the grave I must lie cold; she's a dear maid to me. For now my glass is run, and the hour it is come, And I must die for love and the height of loyalty: I thought it was no harm to embrace her in my arms, Or take her from her parents; but she's a dear maid to me. Adieu, my loving father, and you, my tender mother, Farewell, my dearest brother, who has suffered sore for me; With irons I'm surrounded, in grief I lie confounded, By perjury unbounded! she's a dear maid to me. Now, I can say no more; to the Law-board I must go, There to take the last farewell of my friends and counterie; May the angels, shining bright, receive my soul this night, And convey me into heaven to the blessed Trinity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP by ROBERT BROWNING QUA CURSUM VENTUS by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH CINQUAIN: MOON-SHADOWS by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY THE RAIN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES LIBERTY FOR ALL by WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS by JOHN JEROME ROONEY |